Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  Checking the X and Y coordinates on his phone, he reached where he had left the Nigerian Princess which was now an empty spot in the Caribbean Sea. He killed the engine and opened the glove box, Afua pulled out a portable radio. It was a small heavy Motorola device with green digital numbers and push buttons on both sides. Afua switched on the walkie-talkie and switched to the channel they had chosen to transmit information on prior to leaving the yacht. Afua pressed the TALK key and spoke in Ibibio. He waited a moment for Obano to respond, but he heard nothing. Afua repeated his message and waited. Nothing. He didn’t know what to do, but there was no reason to panic. The absence of other vessels in the area probably meant the Coast Guard had cleared them out for safety and security. They had probably boarded all the nearby vessels to make sure the ships in the vicinity had nothing to do with the downed airliner. They had then told them all to pull anchor and leave the area.

  Afua pressed the talk button and repeated his words, this time saying the name of the Nigerian Princess in English.

  Nothing.

  He glanced down at his leg. Blood had begun seeping out from under the duct tape. Afua caught a whiff of death. The coagulated blood under the tape was beginning to smell. Afua rested his head back on his seat and waited. It was all he could do given his lack of physical reserves—it had taken all he had to lift the anchor and avoid the jetty.

  Termez, Uzbekistan

  T he Uzbekistan Airways Ilyushin Il-114 touched down at 2:05 p.m. on Termez International Airport’s single runway. Kara Ramey had never caught so many connecting flights before arriving at her end destination. She was tired and anxious but pleased to finally reach this secluded town.

  The aircraft slowly taxied up to the terminal. Instead of a jetway rolling out to join to the exit door of the airplane, a rolling stairway had been towed out to the plane by a tractor. The passengers had been told to watch their step as they walked down the stairs to the tarmac below.

  Kara hadn’t known what to expect, but the weather was surprisingly pleasant. It was neither too hot nor too cold. Goldilocks would have said, “It’s just right.” Kara guessed it was in the high 70s. It didn’t matter that the rest of the world had converted to the metric system. Americans were stubborn and they would be damned to give up on Fahrenheit or miles per hour. Kara considered it a badge of honor.

  Not far from the plane, Victor Kornev was standing casually on the black tarmac. No other visitors were standing in that area, so Kara assumed that Kornev had some sort of security pass allowing him into restricted areas. Kornev was not wearing any badge that she could see. He wore a tight blue polo shirt showing off his chiseled arms and six-pack with a tan pair of cargo pants. Sewn on every visible surface were at least a dozen pockets. Considering the warm weather, Kara was happy with her choice of clothes. She was wearing a tight, black sleeveless halter top and a conservative pair of jeans. She had considered wearing yoga pants, which really made her body pop, but she didn’t want Kornev to get too revved up. Even though Kornev didn’t know it, they had places to go and people to see.

  When she was about ten meters from the man, Kornev called out in his thick Russian accent, “Tonya!”

  Kornev knew the CIA operative, Kara Ramey only as a party girl, Tonya. She smiled. In an upbeat, loving tone she responded, “My Victor!”

  They met, kissed and Kornev gave her a hug. “It is so nice of you to visit,” he said. “Do you have any bags, other than your carry-on?” he asked, referring to the small tote she was dragging behind her.

  “No, just this,” Tonya said. “I always like to buy things from new places I visit.”

  “And why does that not surprise me?” Kornev asked, playfully.

  The couple turned and began walking toward the terminal. Before arriving at the door, Kornev turned right and walked along the building’s perimeter and Kara followed him a good distance until they arrived at a hangar with the words AIR CRESS stenciled on the building’s protruding edge.

  “This is my airline,” Kornev told her.

  “You have your own airline, and you let me fly on that tub?” Kara asked, pointing at a plane no longer in sight.

  “We only fly cargo,” Kornev said apologetically. “But I guess we could have strapped you to the wall,” he said with a coy smile.

  “I would have probably liked that,” she said, a look of sexual deviousness in her eyes.

  “You drive me crazy,” Kornev told her, giving her a hug as they approached a big black Hummer. Kornev clicked the fob on his keychain, and the back hatch opened with a hiss. He tossed her bag into the vehicle, clicked the hatch closed and opened the passenger door for her.

  Kara thanked him, and a few minutes later they exited the airport grounds. She took in the sights as the Hummer made its way out onto a one-lane divided highway. There was surprisingly little traffic on the road which made sense considering Termez was not a tourist attraction. While Kornev drove, he began telling her the history of the town and listed the few things to do in the Termez area.

  He turned to smile at her. Suddenly, the rear window of the Hummer exploded, at least it sounded like an explosion. A millisecond before the glass shattered, there had been a trio of gunshots that sounded like one continuous report before the rear window shattered into hundreds of small pieces that fell into the vehicle. Whereas, the front windshield had shatter resistant (laminated) glass, the rear and side windows of the Hummer were only tempered glass. Thus, they didn’t hold up as well to gunfire.

  Kornev’s initial reaction was to step on the brake. His brain told him another vehicle must have rammed into him. But when he set his foot on the brake and looked in his rear-view mirror, there was no vehicle behind him. He checked his driver side mirror. As he was looking at the side mirror, a puff of Plexiglas dust skipped off the door jam, and his side mirror disappeared, tumbling into the dirt on the side of the road. The sound of gunfire arrived a split-second after the mirror had broken free.

  It didn’t take Kornev any more convincing to understand again he was under attack. She screamed, and Kornev jammed his foot on the accelerator. The heavy Hummer complained and groaned, then kicked down two gears and accelerated.

  Using the passenger side mirror, Kornev saw a drone flying on her side of the SUV. It was the size of a large bicycle wheel, domed and protected in black plastic. Under the air machine was the unmistakable short barrel of a weapon. The gun was facing toward the right side of the Hummer, lined up with the rear side window.

  She screamed when she looked out the window and saw the flying contraption. She yelled at Kornev, “Turn. Turn here,” pointing in the direction away from the drone. Without giving it a second thought, Kornev whipped the wheel to the left, and the lumbering vehicle’s tires screeched as it rocketed out on a narrow side street.

  With his own side mirror gone, Kornev stuck his head out his window to look behind them. A similar drone flew along his side of the SUV. Kornev muttered an obscenity to himself, and the drone cut loose another barrage of lead. The bullets tore into the side of the Hummer, chattering down the sheet metal, leaving clean and crisp holes that trailed smoke.

  The smoke was of grave concern to Kornev. It indicated the gun was using incendiary rounds that could ignite the fuel tank. The drone was flying directly next to the Hummer, shooting directly into the side. Not down or up, but right through the middle of the vehicle. The drone that had been on the passenger side of the Hummer was now behind them.

  Tonya screamed, “Get away from them. Turn, turn,” and she pointed to her right. Kornev cranked the wheel and the Hummer skidded a little before it straightened onto a narrow dirt road. The heavy-duty suspension ate up the bumps in the road, turning them into nothing but soft thuds inside the vehicle. The drones became lost in a dust cloud kicked up by the vehicle’s big tires. The few small homes and shops previously bordering the road faded into the distance. The chase continued into the desert.

  “Did we lose them?” Kornev asked, looking in his rear-view mirror,
and then to Tonya’s mirror, and finally craning his neck to look out his own window.

  “I can’t see. There’s too much dust,” Tonya said. “What were those things?”

  “I don’t know,” Kornev told her truthfully.

  “I think that was the same type of aircraft that attacked me a few weeks ago.” Kornev held up his right hand. “One of them shot me.”

  Kara looked with concern at Kornev’s right hand. A nasty little abrasion was healing on the webbed skin between his thumb and index finger.

  The dirt road ahead led them deeper in the desert. The terrain consisted of low hills and gradual turns. It was easy to navigate, even at their high speed of travel.

  Kornev kept the Hummer speeding more than 96 kilometers per hour. He appeared satisfied the flying machines were no longer pursuing them.

  “They must have run out of batteries or are no longer within range of whoever is controlling them,” Kornev told her.

  He began to ease his foot off the gas pedal. Located in the side compartment of his door, Kornev reached down and pulled out a Walther P99 AS 9mm handgun. It was combat green with black grips and was always loaded. As the Hummer began to slow and the dust began to diminish, he placed the gun in his lap. He would have a surprise ready for the next flying contraption. The Hummer kept moving forward but decelerating, and the dust diminished enough that Kornev was relatively certain the coast was now clear.

  “Who is that?” Tonya asked, pointing in front of her.

  Kornev changed his focus to what lay ahead. He stepped on the brake and came to a full stop.

  Forty meters in front of them, sitting in the middle of the road, was a man. The man in the middle of the road was wearing a white cowboy hat. Oddly enough, the man was sitting in a chair behind a table, as if he had decided that this would be a great place to have a card game. An empty chair sat opposite the man with his back to the Hummer.

  The SUV ground to a stop in the middle of the road, and Kornev looked around nervously, checking for flying contraptions. Looking toward the potential threat in front of him, he watched as both flying drones set down on the ground on either side of the table. It was as if the drones had returned to their Master. They now sat on thin tripod legs set wide apart for stability.

  The drones and the man just sat there, immobile. The man’s feet were propped up on the edge of the table with his hat resting over his eyes like he was sleeping. The drones were sitting on their tripod legs as stationary and unwavering as the man next to them.

  “What is this?” Tonya asked, panic in her voice.

  “I have no idea,” Kornev said. He was surprisingly calm considering the circumstances.

  “If he had really wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have hesitated in shooting us,” Kornev said. He opened his door.

  “Where are you going?” Tonya inquired. Kornev ignored her.

  Kornev stepped on the Hummer’s running board. He stuck the Walther in the small of his back, tucked into his cargo pants’ waistband. Kornev eased himself down to the sunbaked ground. He watched the man, who hadn’t moved a muscle

  since they had spotted him. The cowboy was still sleeping, his pointy cowboy boots resting on the table. Kornev estimated the man to be 220 pounds, but it was hard to determine his height since he was sitting down. He began to walk slowly toward the man, knowing the man had a reason for sitting there. If the reason wasn’t to kill him, he must have something else on his mind.

  The passenger door opened, and Kara stepped out, making her way to the front of the Hummer. She didn’t have a weapon but felt as if her presence might calm Hail since this type of confrontation really wasn’t his forte. She watched Kornev approach the table.

  As he closed within ten meters of the table, Hail used his index finger to push back the hat on his head. Hail glanced at Kara.

  Behind Kornev’s back, she performed a pantomime of a gun with her hand, and then pretended to stick it in the back waistband of her pants.

  Hail responded with a single nod.

  Kornev kept his hands out to his sides, making sure that the man saw they were empty. He walked slow and purposeful, warily; he was careful to avoid making any sudden movements. It was within the realm of possibilities there was a sniper with his scope trained on Kornev. If he had set this up, there would be a sniper present.

  As he got closer to the table, Kornev could make out the man’s features. He was not old, probably in his forties. He had dark hair and a strong face. He was wearing a polo shirt like the one he wore. But, the cowboy’s shirt was just an off-the-rack, green polo shirt. He was wearing blue jeans and his feet were still propped on the table, which was not a great way to defend oneself. It was obvious he did not view Kornev as a threat.

  “A regular cowboy,” the Russian muttered to himself.

  As Kornev closed within ten feet of the table, the man set his boots on the ground and told the Russian, “Move very slowly. Don’t spook the drones.”

  Kornev almost laughed. The man was talking about the machines as if they were wild dogs ready to attack at the slightest provocation. But since this type of technology was new to him, Kornev yielded to the advice. He stopped when he reached the table. The Russian stood at ease behind the empty chair.

  Sitting on the table in front of him was a bottle of water, a small white hand towel and two pearl-handled .38 Special revolvers. One of the vintage handguns was sitting with its butt end pointing towards the cowboy and the other was sitting in a mirrored fashion in front of Kornev. It looked like the guns were silverware laid out for a deadly luncheon.

  “What’s this all about?” Kornev demanded.

  “Sit down, slowly,” Hail told him.

  Kornev sat on the wooden folding chair in front of the table.

  Hail commanded the drones: GUARD HEAVY and they moved in unison. They brought up their guns up and pointed them at Kornev.

  “I can’t stress to you the importance of moving slowly. Any quick movement will result in the drones to shoot whatever part of you is moving. It’s automatic. They’ll shoot you before you can even blink. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Kornev said, giving the drones a concerned look.

  “By the time you get that gun out from behind your back, the hand that you shoot with will be gone. Do you understand?”

  “How do you know I have a gun behind my back?” Kornev asked.

  “You’re an arms dealer. If you didn’t have a gun behind your back, what type of professional weapons dealer would you be?”

  Kornev said nothing.

  Hail warned him again, “Do you understand that any sudden movement will cause the drones to shoot you?”

  “Yes,” Kornev said again, “but I still don’t know why you are here and what this is about?”

  “I’m getting to that part,” Hail said.

  A bead of sweat dripped from Kornev’s cheek onto his shirt.

  “Are you nervous?” Hail asked Kornev.

  “No,” Kornev responded stubbornly.

  “I’m asking because you’re sweating, and it’s not really hot outside today.”

  Kornev looked mad.

  “Here’s a towel,” Hail said, and he tossed the towel to Kornev.

  Kornev instinctively moved to catch it with his right hand. In that fraction of a second, the drone to his right jerked and fired a single round.

  The bullet clipped Kornev’s open hand, and the towel fell back onto the table.

  For a moment, Kornev was clueless. He didn’t understand what had happened. He looked at his right hand and saw a drop of blood drip down from his little finger and land on the towel. Then it was as if a bottle of blood opened and sprayed on his hand. Blood began gushing from the bullet hole, and Kornev gritted his teeth, and he grimaced in pain.

  “Why did you do that?” Kornev screamed. Moving very slowly, he held his bloody hand for Hail to see.

  “Why did I throw you the towel?” Hail laughed. “It was to stop the bleeding from your new bullet hole. And
you thought I was giving it to you because you were sweating so profusely.”

  “Why did you shoot me?” Kornev fumed with anger, his teeth clenched so tightly together Hail thought he might snap a tooth.

  “I didn’t shoot you. My drone shot you. Remember, I told you not to make any sudden movements. I was pretty darn clear about that.”

  Kornev gave each of the drones a contentious look while he sneered at Hail.

  Moving very slowly, Kornev picked the towel up from the table and used it to wrap his bloodied hand. Using his left hand, he applied pressure with the fingers on both the entry and exit holes of his right hand.

  Hail smiled. He was really enjoying this. He gave Kornev a moment to get his act together before asking, “So, now do you understand the rules? Remember: No sudden movements. And, for God’s sake, don’t sneeze.”