by David Cline
They walked slowly. Wood lead the group with his arms slightly raised as though to show the night that he meant no harm.
After a few steps, the smooth cement was replaced with deep sand. Amara tried to look ahead. The feeble light from her candle was worthless. She could not see anything beyond a 10-foot radius. A strong gust of wind blew through the group and snuffed the little flame out. She stopped midstride breathing heavily.
From ahead in the darkness she heard Wood whisper. “Remember, no sudden movements.”
There was a rustle to the side of their group and then a loud shout shattered the silence. In a blink of an eye, bright spotlights bathed their group in piercing light.
Amara’s pupils contracted so suddenly she almost lost her balance. She held out her arms to steady herself.
A chorus of voices began to scream at the same time. All her senses were so overloaded she could not distinguish what language the shouts were in. Amara sank to her knees and slowly raised her hands over her head. She looked behind her and caught a furious expression from André. His glasses rested sideways across his face. His eyes were pinched closed. “Damn Americans have killed us,” he said. His voice barely audible over the tumult.
Amara brought one of her hands down to shield her eyes against the harsh light as she braved a peek at their captors. They were surrounded by at least ten men. Each had a blinding light in one hand and a gun in the other. They were no policemen. Far from it. They had no common uniform. Amara thought they looked like a motley crew of pirates. Some wore bandanas around their foreheads to help prevent the perspiration from entering their eyes. Some were bare chested and had long jewels hanging around their necks. Others were shoeless.
After Amara had studied their adversaries for a few moments, she turned her attention to Wood. She was surprised to see a large grin on his face.
One of the men near Wood stepped close and spoke so rapidly, Amara could not discern what was being said.
After Wood responded, a soft murmur broke out amongst the men. Some lowered their weapons but kept the lights pointed at them.
Up ahead the group parted, and a small man squeezed through the ranks and made his way straight to Wood. He was wearing short shorts and a baggy soccer jersey. His skin was dark after a lifetime under the Paraguayan sun. He stopped a few feet away from Wood and studied him closely.
Wood’s smile never left his face. “Que pasa, Mufassa?”
The man laughed and embraced Wood like an old friend.
The rest of the men watched for a few moments and then turned off the lights. They dispersed and made their way back in the direction they had come.
Amara let out the longest sigh of relief of her life. She looked back at Fin whose chest pounded through his shirt. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally said, rolling his eyes. He made the sign of the cross and then kissed his forefinger and pointed to the sky.
It seemed Wood had forgotten that anyone else was there as he and the strange man laughed like two drunken friends at a bar. After a couple, long minutes, the man broke his gaze away from Wood and gave the rest of them a curious stare.
Wood glanced behind him and almost seemed surprised to see the four of them there.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is an old friend of mine, Samuel.” Wood introduced everyone. Samuel nodded at them each respectfully in turn. After they were all acquainted, Samuel beckoned them to follow him.
Amara fell into step beside Wilkins. “Since we have met you two,” she said, “life doesn’t seem real. It’s like we are all sharing the same dream.” She paused. “Were you nervous at all back there?”
Wilkins laughed. “Not for a second.” There was a pause and he must have seen the skepticism in her eyes because he continued. “If you had shared as much of your life as I have with Nick, you learn when to be nervous and when not to be. No sense worrying when you don’t need to. In most cases, the stress and anxiety alone will kill you far sooner than the bullet.”
Amara looked at him. Only the natural light from heaven lent its light. She could only make out his dark silhouette. “And when the situation does merit worry and stress?” she asked.
Wilkins hesitated as he searched for the right words. “Then we give the situation the attention necessary,” he finally said.
Up ahead, Samuel led their group behind a group of car-sized boulders where a warm fire crackled. The rocks acted as a natural barrier and concealed the swirling light on three sides. Samuel gestured for the group to make themselves comfortable in the sand. The five of them sat down and were alone once again.
Wood beamed at them and stretched his hands over the fire. Everyone returned the smile except for André who wore a sour expression on his face.
“I talked to Samuel,” Wood said. “He is getting everything prepared for us to leave the country.”
Amara was excited to finally ask some questions that were burning inside of her. “Wood…” she said. Without knowing where to start, she threw her hands up in the air exasperated. “Start from the beginning.”
Wood looked at her sideways with raised eyebrows. He looked at Wilkins who gave him a knowing expression and realization dawned on his face.
“Yes,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I guess all of this can be quite strange.”
Fin snorted. “Look mate, hanging with you guys is like living inside a movie. Nothing but respect. But I would love to hear your story.”
Wood flashed him a grin and then threw another branch on the fire. The impact sent bright red sparks high into the night sky. “As you know well by now,” he nodded almost apologetically toward André, “ten years ago, I was a missionary down here in this area. One day, my companion and I decided we wanted to make it to the river.” He pointed vaguely ahead of him.
“We are at the river now?” Amara asked.
Wood nodded. “We are sitting on a large hidden beach. At this spot, the Paraná River separates Paraguay and Brazil. Anyway, we could not find any road that led us to it until we stumbled upon the hidden path that led to the abandoned church. We found the secret staircase and descended with bravado.” Wood’s eyes danced as he recounted the tail. He laughed. “Imagine two young white Americans stumbling onto the same men that met us back there.”
“Did they greet you with the same hospitality?” André asked.
Wood smiled. “Much worse. You see, we were wearing slacks, dress shirts and ties. Standard uniform for missionaries. When they saw us, they thought that we were international detectives or CIA operatives or something there to break up their operation. They tied our hands up and had us kneel down in the sand with guns to our heads.”
“What happened?” Amara asked, looking past Wood toward the shadows that were working somewhere nearby in the darkness.
“I explained that we were gangsters for God. That we had no intention or desire to turn them in, and just wanted to share a message with them about Jesus.”
“Did they hurt you at all?” Fin asked.
“Oh no,” Wood said. “We ended up cooking steaks over a fire in this exact spot and had a great discussion.”
“Did you convert any of them?” André asked. Amara sensed that the Frenchman’s coldness toward Wood was warming.
Wood laughed. “In order to get baptized, you agree to obey the laws of the land. These fools ain’t nothing more than a band of criminals. I love them though. They are just trying to make a living. We returned often and talked about all sorts of stuff. Samuel and I became close. I have tried to convince him to get on social media so we can stay in touch better, but he avoids technology like Wilkins avoids taking a shower.”
Wilkins chuckled with no retort.
“What line of work are they in?” Amara whispered.
“Smuggling,” Wood said. His tone was so nonchalant. He pointed past the large rock that Wilkins rested against. “They have a small fleet of jet-black motorboats they use every night to smuggle contraband back and forth between Paraguay and Bra
zil. I wish I could say it is just your random Walmart stuff, but unfortunately a lot of it is contraband. Drugs, weapons, and the like. Sometimes, as in our situation, people.”
Just then Samuel returned and waved Wood over to him. The expression on Samuel’s face made her uneasy. Amara watched them converse softly just a few paces away. The warm camaraderie of old friends was gone, and Amara could tell they were talking serious business. There was no more laughter. Just quick hushed voices.
After a minute, Wood turned around and gestured for everyone to stand. “Time to go.”
“What happened?” Amara asked.
“I guess our German buddies are willing to pay a pretty penny for us. A few of Samuel’s men put the pieces together when they saw us and realized who we were. One had the bright idea to turn us over and collect a handsome reward.”
“What did Samuel tell them?” Wilkins asked. For the first time, Wilkins seemed to take a keener interest in the situation. He looked around and Amara could tell his mind was hurrying to put together a plan just in case things got ugly.
“Don’t worry,” Wood said. “Some say there is no honor among thieves.” He paused and looked around. “Well these guys aren’t thieves. Just men dealt a crappy hand in life trying to make the best of it. They put their families and loyalty amongst themselves above all else. Even a large reward. We both think it best however, to not test their resolve for too long.”
“Agreed.” Wilkins said. “How much are we worth? If we can, I would love to find a wanted poster of us.”
Wood chuckled. “I didn’t ask. But I would wager it’s large enough to tempt even a saint.”
They followed Samuel across the beach toward the sound of waves lapping the dark sand. Soon they reached boats that were so black, Fin almost tripped and fell into one. They were smaller than Amara had imagined, but in the middle of the night would be almost invisible.
Samuel pointed to one, and they all climbed in. Wood was last and paused before entering. He embraced Samuel like a brother and exchanged well wishes. Wood jumped in and knelt low between Amara and Wilkins. Samuel lowered his shoulder and pushed the boat out into the lazy current.
Wood looked back toward shore. “Te quiero che amigo. Jajajopata.”
“Vaya con Dios Wood,” Samuel said, as the motor turned, and they sped toward the opposite bank.
The boat hit a wave and water splashed over the side into Amara’s face. She wiped her eyes and then laughed. The whole situation was so absurd. She looked back at Wood. “What is the plan once we hit the Brazilian shore?” she asked.
Wood patted his pocket. “Find out what Ararat means.”
Chapter 7
Isla Vierte
Mosquitoes attacked Viktor Speer’s sunburned neck in larger numbers than normal. It was as though they had conspired and had formed a plan to increase their chances of success. He swatted at them but was too distracted to assess the damage he had done to their ranks.
For the better part of the last two years, he had spent his life rotting on an island located approximately 100 miles west of the Galapagos Islands. There was no space to escape and enjoy a moment of solitude. The island was a little less than 50 acres - approximately the size of a small city park. Like other nearby islands, Isla Vierte was composed of marine organism remnants like Corals and Mollusca.
The initial allure of swaying palm trees and tropical paradise had quickly lost its charm as the stress of his mission had increased over time. Looming deadlines and the fact that everything depended on him caused Speer to no longer notice the sparkling blue water full of colorful fish or the picturesque sunsets.
Viktor Speer was the lead engineer in charge of preparing the small island to launch a rocket into space. Because Odessa wanted to stay off the radar, and because of the extreme isolation of the island, they had selected Isla Vierte as their location of choice.
Another scientific benefit to this specific island was its proximity to the equator. He had explained how the natural rotation of the earth moved faster the closer you were to its center. It spun 1,670 kilometers an hour at the equator to be exact. The extra inertia would aid their rocket when it punched through Earth’s atmosphere.
Like other locations considered, the island had its pros and cons. The remoteness made their mission a logistical nightmare. A successful launch required countless parts and pieces that all had to be shipped over to the island. There was not enough room for a plane to land, so most parts were flown into Baltra or Isla San Cristobal in the Galapagos and then loaded onto a cargo helicopter. Larger pieces had to be put on ships and brought over by boat. Advancement had been halted many times because of a defective part or an incorrect communication request.
Whenever Speer found himself frustrated and miserable, he tried to put everything into proper perspective. Generations of his ancestors had sacrificed much more than he for the cause. Speer did not mind the cramped living conditions or the canned food so much as depending on others. One small error could potentially cause a few weeks delay.
Speer oversaw all operations on the island and felt like his role was similar to a general contractor. Everyone below him had a specific task or field of expertise. His job was to ensure that everything worked together smoothly, and they met their deadlines.
The passing of each tedious month was eased somewhat by the comradery he had formed with the 17 other men under his command. They shared the same vision for the future, and all possessed a deep devotion to their work. Speer knew without the shared passion, any other group under similar circumstances would have either given up or mutinied.
The food, living conditions, mosquitoes and absence of female companionship was enough to drive any isolated group of men crazy. Speer had been fortunate thus far. No disciplinary action had been necessary since they had arrived. Only one worker had been sent back to the mainland due to illness.
All the discomfort in the world would be worth it if they succeeded. Never in history had anything similar been done. The Germans had been on the cutting edge of technology during the late 1930’s and early 1940’s. German scientists and engineers had created and built weapons that were years ahead of their time. The V-2 missile was the world’s first long-range guided ballistic missile. In June 1944, it was also the first artificial man-made object to pass into the fringe of space. If his ancestors had only been given a little more time to build everything that was in the pipeline, the Allies would have never stood a chance.
After the war, a race commenced between the United States and the USSR to snatch up as many V-2 rockets and personnel involved with the project as possible. 126 of the principal designers were captured by the United States. They called it Operation Paper Clip back then.
Speer looked across the hot exposed sands at the behemoth launching pad they had constructed in the middle of the island. The bright sunlight reflected harshly off its smooth surface and it glinted in the humid air. The launch tower that would soon support the rocket rose high above the surface and disappeared from his view. A crane stood idly nearby ready to transfer everything from the transport boat and maneuver it into position. He glanced down at his watch. It was almost 5pm local time. The sun arched high to the west.
Speer stepped outside the aluminum box he had called home for the past two years and walked around some empty wooden crates. He looked to the south-east and saw a shape appear on the horizon. He smiled and spoke rapid German into a radio.
“All hands-on deck, the Bützow is about to arrive. It’s time we make history.” He looked back toward the tall crane and saw the long arm swing out over a section of water they had dredged parallel to the shore allowing large vessels access to the launch site. Speer smiled to himself as a door opened and personnel exited into the heat and headed for their respective stations.
What historians didn’t know was that despite the Americans kidnapping some of Germany’s talented scientists at the end of the war, the uppermost expert engineers and inventors had been smuggled out of the c
ountry long before the Soviet artillery began to rain down on Berlin. Their research had not stopped. It had only paused for a fleeting moment as they relocated. Their important work had continued underground and in secret.
His radio crackled. “Kommandant Speer,” the voice said. “Odessa demands an update. They await your report via satellite uplink.”
“On my way.”
He walked down the narrow trail that lead to the launchpad. It had been used so regularly, a blind man would have thought it was paved. Green plants he had not cared to identify surrounded him. The oval leaves drooped low as he walked by. A few crabs scampered out of his way and found refuge inside their holes.
The main headquarters for their remote operation was located directly in front of the launch site. The rectangular edifice resembled an elongated shipping container. The corners were square, and the roof was flat. The walls had once been a bright red but had faded slightly due to exposure. The entire building rested on large cement blocks in case the ocean decided to exceed its usual boundary.
Speer climbed the steps and passed through a large metal door. A cold wave of air hit him as his eyes adjusted. This building was the only one on the island with a decent AC unit. The computers and sensitive electronic equipment all had to be kept cool. A counter ran the length of the entire wall. Computers with large monitors were spaced evenly every few feet. Small desktop lamps hung above each station with directional light like those on airplanes. A large plexiglass window faced the launch pad. Because of its thickness, little outside light could penetrate the window and it gave the picturesque scenery a bleak tint.
Speer passed empty chairs and made his way to a man holding out a pair of headphones. He took them and sat down in a cushioned task chair. He swiveled around and faced a bright LCD monitor. A group of people sat around a circular table immersed in quiet conversation.
He cleared his throat. “Greetings from Isla Vierte.”
They all looked toward what must have been a screen with a camera attached. A large man in the front raised his hand in greeting.