Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  From the drone’s position in the sand, it was hard to make out who was coming down the stairs.

  “Can you zoom in on the stairs?” Hail requested.

  Starling panned to the right. She zoomed the camera in to obtain a tight shot of the stairs using the thumbwheel on her right joystick.

  Kara and Afua Diambu could clearly be seen in the frame. Starling continued to track them with the camera until they reached the bottom of the stairs. At that point, two armed guards came into view. They had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs. There was a verbal exchange between Diambu and the guards. One began walking down the path toward the beach. The other guard remained behind to continue guarding the base of the stairs. Kara and Diambu fell in line behind the mobile guard. They walked single file down the narrow sandy path that led toward the beach. The guard was in the lead and continually swiveled his head from left to right searching for threats. He waved the tip of his AK-47 in unison with his head. Diambu was walking about fifteen yards behind the guard, with Kara closely behind the Nigerian.

  From Hail’s perspective, she was walking way too close to Diambu.

  The group had walked halfway down the path, when Hail said, “What the hell is she doing?”

  Nichols was just as baffled, but he said nothing.

  “Turtles is armed,” Starling announced.

  “Scrub it. Secure Turtles,” Hail told Starling. “Hopefully, Kara can put some distance between herself and Diambu so we can get to him on his return to the house.”

  As the trio passed the turtle, Kara began making a slashing motion under her neck with her index finger. She stared directly at the drone as she passed and

  repeated the same slashing signal. Since she was walking behind both Diambu and the guard, her action went unnoticed.

  “What is she trying to tell us?” Nichols asked Hail.

  “She’s telling us to call it off for some reason,” he said.

  “And why would she be doing that?” the captain questioned.

  “I don’t have a clue,” Hail said.

  Starling pivoted Turtles’ head to the right, continuing to track the group as they left the path and walked onto the beach.

  “Were we recording all that?” Hail asked.

  “We record everything the drones see,” the captain replied.

  “We’re missing something.” Hail told Nichols, rubbing his face with his big hands.

  “Maybe Kara is wired with some sort of explosive,” Nichols suggested.

  Hail continued to rub his face, as if adding more pressure to his head would help him think with more clarity.

  Hail let his hands fall to his waist and said, “We need to play back the video as they passed Turtles to see if we can spot something significant she was trying to tell us.”

  Nichols told Starling, “Sarah, please pull up the video we just recorded as they walked by Turtles’ camera. Put it up on screen six.”

  “Will do,” Starling said.

  The video began replaying the requested segment. The instant the group had passed within three feet, the drone automatically switched to a fisheye lens. Even though the people passing in front of the lens were grossly distorted, like they were standing in front of a bent funhouse mirror, the camera had recorded their entire bodies from their feet to the top of their heads.

  “Freeze it right there,” Hail said. It was frozen at the point Kara began slashing at her neck.

  Kara was wearing a T-shirt and shorts without shoes.

  Hail and Nichols studied the image, looking closely at Kara. Hail examined her clothes for telltale bulges, incongruent with Kara’s curves, but consistent with explosives strapped to her body.

  “I don’t see anything,” Nichols finally said.

  “I don’t either,” Hail agreed. “And if I had a bomb under my shirt, I sure the hell would have lifted my shirt up to make sure the camera got a good look at it as I passed by.”

  “I would have as well,” Nichols agreed.

  “So, she is not wired to an explosive,” Hail said with some relief.

  “Then something must have changed,” Nichols suggested.

  “Yeah, but what?” Hail said, almost to himself. “Rewind it again, but this time run it forward in slow motion. We have to be missing something.”

  Using the right monitor mounted to his captain’s chair, Nichols took control of the video and pressed the double back arrow icon. The video played backwards until the group was about twenty feet from the drone. The captain pressed the single forward arrow icon, and the video began playing one frame at a time. In a jerky fashion, the guard passed the camera. Hail couldn’t see anything on the man that would cause Kara to scrub the mission. Then Afua Diambu walked by the camera. He was wearing swim trunks with no shirt. A towel was draped over his right shoulder. He didn’t appear to have any weapons of any type on his person. Then Kara walked by, repeating the vexing slashing signal. One frame at a time, Hail and Nichols studied the video.

  Nothing.

  “Let’s watch it again,” Hail ordered.

  Nichols looked frustrated, but he did as Hail wished.

  The guard walked by again, and then Afua Diambu walked by, and then— “Wait!” Hail said. “Freeze it right there.”

  Nichols did as Hail instructed, and the video came to a stop with Afua Diambu centered in the frame. His long muscular legs led up to his brightly colored swim trucks, and then up farther to the towel, and finally, the top of the frame focused on the man’s head.

  “Do you see something?” Nichols asked.

  “I don’t see something, and I think I know why Kara was signaling us.”

  “What do you mean?” the captain asked.

  “The bio on Diambu the CIA provided us reported that Afua Diambu suffered an injury during his taking down of United 1045. He was treated at a hospital in Porlamar, Venezuela for a severe leg wound. He should have a nasty scar on his right ankle. But right there,” Hail said, drawing a circle on the video screen with his finger, “on his right ankle—this guy has nothing. Not even a hint of a scar. This guy isn’t Afua Diambu. He’s a double. That’s why Kara signaled for us to scrub the mission.”

  “Damn,” Nichols said. “After all this work. All this prep and it’s been a double that has been swimming every morning. And God only knows how long this has been going on.”

  Hail shook his head and tried to decide how best to proceed.

  Seagulls had flown in closer to the group on the beach. The guard was now standing about thirty feet behind Kara and the Diambu double dropped his towel on the sand. He was walking into the gentle waves. Kara was sitting in the sand and appeared to be picking up shells and inspecting them. She noticed Seagulls flying directly in front of her and made another slashing signal with her finger across her neck.

  “Yeah, we understand you, Kara,” Hail said to himself. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

  SNAKE ISLAND, NIGERIA

  K ornev awoke to discover Kara was not lying next to him. He stretched, checked the time on a clock next to the bed and considered going back to sleep. Although Kara didn’t have much to gain from snooping around the jihadi’s compound, Kornev didn’t feel comfortable with her out of his sight. He climbed out of bed, located his clothes from the day before and hurriedly put them on. He spent a few minutes in the bathroom and bedroom, closing the door.

  Kornev heard sounds coming from the large living room down the hall. He saw two men dressed in fatigues exiting the elevator with the two black cases Kornev had brought to Diambu. Victor saw that Afua was seated at a large glass table adjacent to the kitchen area eating breakfast. Two black women were in the kitchen either cooking or cleaning. They wore jeans and T-shirts, but Kornev couldn’t tell if they were hired help or more of Afua’s extended family members.

  The men toting the cases opened the sliding glass doors and took them outside and set them down on the deck. Afua waved Kornev over.

  “Please sit and have some breakfast,�
�� Afua said.

  Kornev walked over, pulled out a chair and sat. One of the women in the kitchen placed a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of him. Afua poured Kornev some coffee and some type of red juice. He put the glasses in front of Victor.

  “What’s up with the—” Kornev paused, not sure if he wanted to say the words in front of the women. He decided on the word, “cases.”

  “We are going to do a little testing this morning,” Afua told him.

  Kornev didn’t immediately understand what the jihadi was telling him.

  “What kind of testing?” Kornev asked, concerned.

  “Live testing, of course,” Afua said, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Live testing here? Now?”

  “Yes,” Afua said. “You see I only need one of the missiles for the mission I have in mind. The other missile I bought from you is a test missile. I need to know that I am getting what I paid for.”

  Kornev didn’t know what to say. He knew that the guidance had been altered on the missiles by Hail’s people. If the modified missiles didn’t hit their mark,

  Kornev could be in big trouble. Sure, he could try to shrug it off and blame it on many factors outside his control, but people like Afua typically didn’t take excuses in stride, especially considering the exorbitant prices Kornev charged him for the weapons.

  “I can assure you that these missiles are from the same stock as the one you used in Venezuela. And, if I’m not mistaken, that missile worked perfectly.”

  Afua waved his hand at Kornev, as if he were erasing his words from an imaginary chalkboard.

  “It has been many years since then, and weapons can deteriorate over time. It’s also important for my men to see me fire the missile. They need to understand that I am still—still—” Afua searched for the right word. Then, as if Afua suddenly realized that he didn’t owe the Russian any type of explanation, he simply stopped talking.

  Kornev was quiet for a moment before asking, “Don’t you think that the Nigerian authorities would be upset with you launching a missile?”

  “It’s my island. They don’t mess with me if they know what’s good for them. If they do want to get involved in my affairs, they understand they will no longer be in authority for very long. You can’t be an authority of anything if you are no longer breathing.”

  Kornev looked around for a moment. He checked the deck outside, scanning the long wooden framework from one end to the other.

  He asked Afua, “Do you know where Tonya is?”

  “She is down on the beach with my brother. We will be joining them after breakfast. Please eat up. I have many things to do this morning.”

  Kornev put some toast in his mouth and began to chew. His stomach was too upset to swallow it.

  ROND POINT PORT—ABOARD THE HAIL PROTON

  “W e’ve got some more activity on the stairs,” Jason Wilson announced. Both Seagulls’ and Turtles’ cameras zoomed in on the stairs. Four big men were descending the stairs. Two of the men were carrying the black cases. The two men in the lead appeared to be Diambu and Kornev. Hail and Hail Proton’s crew watched the men negotiate each flight as they twisted and turned their way down to the beach. After about thirty seconds, the group reached the bottom of the stairs and began to trudge through the path’s deep sand.

  “Arm Turtles,” Captain Nichols ordered.

  Hail allowed the C-4 charge to be armed, but he added, “I want to wait until we know what’s going on.”

  Hail secretly desired to allow the group to pass just in front of Turtles and blow them up, including the missiles. But there were many reasons to wait this out, for the time being. First, if Hail disintegrated these men, he wasn’t sure if Kara would be hurt or killed in the blast. The wad of C-4 was encased between dozens of half-inch ball bearings. All it would take is one rogue projectile to make its way to the beach where she was sitting, and it would be lights out. There was no way to definitively determine the footprint of the blast. Second, he had promised the CIA he would not kill Kornev. Hail had told the Russian that he would be allowed to live if he became an informant. Going back on that deal right now would be counterproductive. Hail would erase all the political gains he had made with the CIA and the president.

  “They are almost there,” Nichols told Hail.

  “Scrub it. Secure the drone,” Hail told the crew.

  For a second time, Sarah Starling removed her finger hovering over the top of the icon that would make a hole in the beach. Instead, she pressed the icon next to it labeled SAFETY ON.

  Frustrated, Hail watched the men approach the drone.

  Hail told Starling, “Sarah, I want you to freeze the video on my mark.”

  The first two people who passed in front of the drone were Afua’s soldiers. Trailing behind those two men carrying the black cases was Afua Diambu and behind him, Kornev. At least, Hail thought it was Afua Diambu.

  Hail ordered, “Freeze it,” and Starling touched the pause icon on the video feed. The gray sweat pants Diambu was wearing had ridden up high enough on his ankle to show the wide and jagged scar.

  “That’s our guy,” Hail said, circling the scar on the monitor with his finger.

  “And there goes our guy,” Nichols commented, watching the men pass in front of Turtles and continue further down to the beach. The monitor next to the frozen screen was being shot from Seagulls. It showed the men leaving the narrow path and walking onto the wide expanse of beach.

  Captain Nichols asked, “Why are they taking the missiles down to the beach?’

  Hail shook his head. “I have no idea. Maybe a boat is meeting there to transport the missiles. We should get Foreigner in a ready state so it can follow the boat.”

  The pilot who was responsible for flying Foreigner began running pre-flight diagnostics on the drone.

  The drone, Seagulls, watched the group make its way to the beach. The group of men stopped when they reached Kara, who was still sitting in the sand. The crew saw Kara look up and exchange words with Afua Diambu and then Victor Kornev.

  The soldiers set the cases on the ground next to Kara. She got to her feet and stood behind Kornev.

  Hail watched the video feed and saw Kara stand on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth up to Kornev’s ear.

  SNAKE ISLAND, NIGERIA

  T he two soldiers each removed a part of the missile package. Out of the case, one guard removed the launcher, while the other guard removed the projectile. The other case remained closed.

  Kara asked Kornev in a whisper, “What’s going on?”

  Kornev turned his head toward her and responded in a whisper, “It looks like Diambu is going to test fire one of the missiles.”

  “You mean he’s going to fire it?” Kara asked in a panicked voice.

  Kornev turned his head slightly and whispered back, “No, he’s going to throw it. Of course, he’s going to fire it. That’s what test firing means.”

  The launch tube was delivered into the waiting hands of Afua. He waited patiently for his other man to deliver the projectile. While waiting, Afua set down the launcher with its back end resting on his foot to prevent the weapon from sitting in the sand. The muzzle of the launch tube was pointing upward toward the sky. The soldier who had slowly liberated the projectile from its case walked over to Afua and gingerly threaded the base of the missile into the mouth of the launcher. The missile slid in smoothly, making a metallic clicking sound as it seated and locked itself into the tube.

  Alarm bells in Kara’s mind went off. She looked out to the drone, Seagulls, still thirty yards out over the water. How in the hell was she going to signal that Diambu was going to fire the missile? And then she realized that none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was time. Or more to the point, timing.

  “Remember when you taught me years ago how to load and fire this weapon? Afua asked Kornev. “I still remember everything.”

  Kornev said, “Yes, I remember. But I don’t see why there is a need to test it now. You d
idn’t need to test it back then, and nothing between us has changed.”

  “Yes, things have changed between us,” Afua glanced suspiciously at Kara standing safely behind Kornev. He added, “Things are not the same at all.”

  Afua put the missile up onto his right shoulder and placed his eye into the viewfinder. “You better hope that this missile works correctly, my friend.”

  “You need to have a target,” Kornev said. “It will seek a heat source.”

  “I have already taken care of that,” Afua said.

  Kornev looked out on the horizon to both his left and right. There was no target to be seen.

  For a moment, Kara thought that maybe Afua had discovered that Seagulls was a drone and was going to shoot it down. But that didn’t happen.

  Less than a minute later, the steady beat of a propeller airplane could be heard off in the distance. The sound of the engine was familiar to Kornev. And when he saw the plane, Afua’s new target, all his questions were answered.

  “That’s my cargo plane,” Kornev yelled.

  Afua watched and waited while the plane went into a steep turn; if the plane maintained its current arc, it would eventually complete a 180-degree turn. Its new course would have it flying parallel to the beach, passing directly in front of the group, less than a mile out over Badagry Creek.

  “This morning, I had one of my men tell your pilots you were extending your stay with us. They were instructed to go home,” Afua said.

  As the cargo plane completed its arc, Afua began tracking the aircraft in the weapon’s viewfinder. The plane eventually leveled off and began to pass right in front of the Diambu compound.

  “That plane cost me a lot of money,” Kornev complained.

  “I’ll pay you back,” Afua said, but the jihadi was barely listening to the Russian at this point. Diambu was transfixed on keeping the cargo plane centered in the viewfinder of the Verba surface-to-air missile. The launcher’s multispectral optical seeker came to life and beeped once, indicating the missile had locked onto a heat source.