“Are you expecting any surprises?” asked Foday.
“None.”
South Beach Cafe, Kingston, Jamaica – November 13, 5:50 PM
Michael and Ashani were enjoying an early dinner at the South Beach Cafe in downtown Kingston. The restaurant and sports bar boasted it was the only daiquiri bar in Jamaica. Michael listened as Ashani recalled his first encounter with Doug in 1986.
“Yes, Doug is a good man. I was a young, stupid kid running cocaine for one of the gangs here in Kingston. The local police let me go a few hours after my booking. Doug came to the police station and spoke to me in one of the holding rooms. He convinced me to provide him information.”
“How did he do it?”
“Money, of course. He paid me close to what I was making selling the powder. I had to learn how to hustle and build relationships with people around the ports. It was far less dangerous, man.”
“How are you making your money now?”
“I get by. I do odd jobs for friends of mine but miss the money I made before 9/11. Since then, CIA’s only focus has been the Middle East. No one cares about drugs anymore.”
“I bet DEA would beg to differ. Ever work with them?”
“No, it’s been years since anyone has called me.”
Michael sensed a bit of frustration in Ashani’s voice. The fact that he was not making as much money anymore clearly bothered the Jamaican. He also seemed to have lost purpose. Michael thought these were lousy combinations. His cell buzzed.
“Mike, how are things with Ashani,” asked Doug.
“Just talking about you. Guess you saved his butt in 86. Any news?”
“Yes, a drone just spotted the Black River. It is about fifty miles off the coast in choppy waters. It appears to be heading for Port Royal or somewhere along the southeastern shoreline. The drone is having difficulty keeping eyes on the boat due to the storm. Before you ask, it is an older model. It could be morning before it makes its way to the Grand Hotel marina. I read your report this morning, and the plan looks good. The operations center will send you a text when it’s within five miles.”
“How far away is the cutter?”
“Just off the coast in international waters. Once you secure the boat, call the operations center. They will contact the ship’s captain letting them know you are on the way. They have a hazmat team on board, in case things get dicey.”
“Thanks, Doug. This thing should go down quickly.”
“You have news, Michael?” asked Ashani.
“Yes, they found it. It’s about fifty miles off shore and heading for the Marina. Let’s finish our dinner and go. If the storm passes, they could be here before midnight.”
“We’ve got time, man.”
“I want to be ready several hours in advance, Ashani. I don’t want any surprises.”
Grand Hotel Marina, Port Royal, Jamaica – November 14, 6:45 AM
Michael gazed into the harbor from the Red Jack restaurant and spotted a yacht approaching the marina. He was certain it was the Black River. Michael turned to Ashani.
“If I were a betting man, that’s it, Ashani. They were five miles out a while ago. The timing makes sense.”
“Give it a few minutes, Michael. Maybe it’s another ship coming in from the storm.”
“Now I am certain. There it is. The Black River. You have the radios prepped?”
“Yes. They are fully charged.”
“One thing is troubling me, Ashani?”
“What’s that, man?”
“Where is our friend Dayo? He should be here now or at the fuel station. I don’t see him.”
“Maybe he’s asleep, Michael. I am sure they plan to rest and refuel.”
“Yes, but Dayo should be here. Your guy has not seen him since last night?”
“No, he would have called.”
“Okay. Let’s wait for them to tie down their ropes and secure the boat. I’ll start moving then.”
Fifteen minutes later, Michael Brennan sat up and began moving toward the dock where the Black River lay moored. Walking at a brisk pace, his attention now focused on the two men working around the boat. His eyes stared right through them. His job now was to secure the men, get them below deck and link up with the awaiting Coast Guard cutter offshore. Simple enough he thought.
Michael came within fifteen meters before Fallubah noticed the man. Both men’s eyes locked onto one another. At first, Fallubah was unsure of the man’s purpose. Michael’s pace and penetrating eyes left little doubt about his purpose as he came to within ten meters.
“Manjo, go below,” said Fallubah.
“Good morning, is this the Black River?” asked Michael.
“Yes, sir. We have made our way from Freetown, Sierra Leone. Is the fuel station open?”
“No, it won’t open for another hour.”
Michael drew his weapon and pointed it toward Fallubah.
“What is your name?” asked Michael.
“What are you doing, sir? Why have you pointed a gun at me?”
“Let’s go below deck. I have some questions for you.”
Fallubah stepped into the galley and looked at Manjo. He signaled him to remain seated.
“What are your names?” asked Michael.
“I am Fallubah, and this is Manjo. Who are you?”
“My name is Michael. Where is the blood?”
“What blood, sir? We have no blood.”
Michael reached into his back pocket and called Ashani on the radio.
“Come on in. They are secure.”
“On my way, Michael.”
“Where is your friend Dayo?”
“We know no one by that name.”
“I’ll ask again, where is Dayo?”
“We do not know anyone by that name.” Ashani joined Michael in the galley.
“Ashani, keep an eye on them while I take a look around.”
“You got it, man.”
Michael found the cooler in the second berthing room with a temperature set at ten degrees Celsius. He pulled on the handle and opened the door. It was empty. He cursed Sheikh Cissi to himself. The man had double-crossed him. Furious, he quickly stood up and turned back toward the narrow opening.
He found Ashani standing at the door with his pistol drawn.
“I’m sorry, Michael.”
“What the hell are you doing, Ashani?”
“Walk slowly to the galley, Michael. Please, no heroics, man.”
“Mind telling me what you’re doing, Ashani?”
“I met Dayo many days ago in Port Antonio. It was by coincidence, but he needed help. I was able to offer it.”
“At a good price, I hope.”
“Very good, man. This will be my last job.”
“Tie him up, Manjo,” said Fallubah.
A few minutes later, Fallubah and Manjo left the Black River. Michael stared at Ashani as he sat inside the galley.
“There’s still time for you to change your mind, Ashani. You can’t possibly think you’ll get away with this,” said Michael.
“I can and I will, Michael. I already have a place in Brazil lined up.”
“When this is over, I will come for you, Ashani.”
“I doubt that, Michael. Once we depart, we will make our way to the Bahamas. You will never see me again. No more talk, man, just relax, we will be underway shortly.”
Langley, Virginia – November 14, 10:30 AM
Doug entered the operations center. He should have heard from Michael by now based on the Black River’s arrival.
“When was our last feed, Larry?” asked Doug.
“The drone departed at six-fifty-six AM after the Black River moored.”
“Show me the feed; back it up five minutes before we lost it.”
“Is that
Michael walking along the dock?”
“Yes. At this point, the camera shifts to another angle and our feed goes dead.”
“Damnit, something is wrong. Michael should have given us an update by now. Can you get me a direct line to the drone pilot?”
“Sure, we made contact with them when the tasking began.”
Larry dialed the number for the ground control station.
“Pilot, this is Larry again. I have someone who would like to speak with you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Pilot, this is Doug Weatherbee from Langley. I need you to return to Port Royal.”
“Mr. Weatherbee, we finished that tasking earlier this morning.”
“Who am I speaking with?”
“First Lieutenant Chuck Stansby, sir.”
“Lieutenant Stansby, I need confirmation the Black River is still at the marina.”
“Sir, I have my tasking. Our orders were to track the vessel and move off station when it docked.”
“I understand that Lieutenant Stansby. However, we have lost communication with one of our officers on the ground. I need to know if the Black River is still there.”
“I’ll have to get approval for that, sir.”
“How long will it take?”
“It could take hours, sir.”
“We don’t have that kind of time. Where are you flying now?”
“I can’t divulge that, sir. We’re flying for another customer now.”
“Lieutenant Stansby. I am the deputy director for Operations here in Langley. We have a national security issue on our hands. If we lose that boat and its contents, there may be an attack on the homeland that could kill dozens, if not hundreds, of people. It could even get worse than that. I need you to get back on station and confirm the boat is still there.”
Stansby thought to himself for a moment. He was in a precarious position. As a young officer, he felt uneasy about moving the drone away from his current observation point and track. These decisions can end careers. On the other hand, he recognized the urgency in Doug’s voice. He assumed the man would not have called if it were not urgent. He did not know much about CIA but knew the DDO was a senior position within the organization.
“Stand by, sir.”
“How long before we could get back to Port Royal?” Stansby asked as he turned to his co-pilot.
“In these conditions, no more than twenty minutes. Why?”
“Langley’s on the phone. The customer wants us to go back and confirm if the Black River is still there.”
“What about our current requirements?”
Stansby thought some more. The hell with it. He thought of John Paul Jones and his famous line, ‘those who will not risk cannot win.’
“Get our bird over Port Royal. I’ll take whatever heat comes down.”
“Turning now.”
“Mr. Weatherbee, we should have eyes over the marina soon. Have your operator re-establish the satellite link.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Stansby.”
Nearly twenty minutes went by before the marina came into focus. Doug peered into the screen as the camera zoomed in. The Black River was gone.
Caribbean Sea, 2 miles southwest of Pilon, Cuba – November 14, 9:30 PM
“Take him back to the rear berthing room, Ashani. Manjo, join me topside. I need help with one of the sails,” said Fallubah.
Ashani pulled Michael up by his right arm, and the two slowly walked through the narrow hallway. Michael stopped and turned to Ashani.
“Did you know these guys are Islamic State, Ashani?”
“No way, man. They are smugglers. They’re just trying to get product into the United States.”
“Did you ask them where they’re from?”
“No, I know they’re African. So, what? Lots of Africans come through Jamaica to move product.”
“You really think Doug sent me here to screw around with a few drug dealers?”
“I don’t know, Michael. I do not care. You said you do not travel much. What do you know anyway? For all I know, you’ve been assigned to Jamaica.”
Michael had him talking. That was the goal for now. He waited patiently for the moment to strike.
“Ashani, I lied to you. I have had many assignments in the Middle East. These people are trying to get Ebola into the United States.”
“Man, stop talking crazy.”
“Look, I get why you helped these guys. One final payoff to retire. I get it, but they are not who they say they are. You are helping terrorists transport a virus. A deadly virus that is probably going to kill many people. There will be no place on earth you can hide. You will be a dead man, Ashani.”
Michael’s opportunity to strike finally came as the boat rocked upwards from an approaching wave. Ashani stumbled forward just enough for Michael to execute a vicious head butt. Ashani’s body stumbled backward as Michael raised his front leg and struck Ashani in the gut rendering him to the floor. With a swift follow-up kick to the side of the head, Ashani was out cold. Michael raced into the galley and scanned for a knife or sharp instrument to cut the rope holding his wrists in place. Nothing. He found a drawer and pulled it open. Michael found a knife and was free within ten seconds.
He returned to the narrow hallway and grabbed Ashani’s weapon, a fully loaded .38 special revolver located on the floor. He then dragged Ashani into the rear cabin and locked the door. Michael was pleased to see his bag on top of the bed.
Michael now shifted his attention toward the steps leading to the upper deck. Manjo and Fallubah were somewhere up above. Michael slowly moved through the galley and patiently climbed the stairs. His targets were now visible.
“Fallubah. You and Manjo will join me below, now!” exclaimed Michael as he pointed the .38 revolver in their direction.
Fallubah was stunned. He did not expect to see the American again. After failing to reach Sheikh Cissi, Foday altered their plan to ensure he and the blood were safe in case the Black River was lost. Dayo performed superbly by acquiring the boat within twenty-four hours of Foday’s instructions.
Michael used the extra rope he found up top and tied the two men to the galley chairs. He returned to the helm and examined the console. The first thing he noticed was the satellite phone. It would come in handy shortly. He looked for the waypoints entered into the ship’s navigation systems and stumbled to find the Black River was on autopilot. This was good for Michael, as he had not sailed in many years. Black River’s destination was set for Gran Parque National Sierra Maestra, along Cuba’s southern coastline. A cove near Marea del Portillo appeared to be the final waypoint.
Michael reached for the satellite phone.
“Doug, it’s Michael.”
“Michael, where the hell are you? What number are you calling me from?”
“My cell might be in the waters off the marina right now. I am on the Black River. The blood was not here when I searched earlier this morning. There must have been another passenger or two aboard.”
“What’s your situation?”
“I’m at the helm and have control of the Black River. Looks like I am just along Cuba’s southern coastline. Manjo and Fallubah are down below in the galley. Your man, Ashani, turned against us, Doug.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Exactly what it means, Doug.”
“We’ll deal with that later. I am sorry. I thought he could help.”
“Doug, the ship’s navigation system is set for Marea del Portillo, Cuba. We have any satellites overhead?”
“It’s Cuba, I will try. You think the virus is there?”
“Yes, there’s no reason why these guys are going to a cove off Cuba. They had plenty of time to refuel in Port Royal. The virus will be there. I’m sure of it.”
“How far are you from the location?”
“About three miles. I should be there shortly.”
“Take care of yourself, Michael. No telling how many were on the boat.”
“One or two tops, Doug. There was not room for more than that. I will be in touch.”
Michael returned to the galley.
“Fallubah, why is the boat heading for an area off the Cuban coast?”
Silence.
“Fallubah, I will not ask again. Why?”
Silence.
Michael fired a round toward his left knee. Fallubah began screaming in agony. The bullet pierced his patella and severed the anterior cruciate ligament. Michael became emotionless as he had so many times in his career. He calmly asked again.
“Fallubah, where is this boat heading and why?”
“I curse you and your family!” yelled Fallubah.
Michael immediately fired a second round toward his left knee once again. Manjo cursed in his native tongue as Fallubah continued screaming. Michael sat back in his chair.
“Fallubah. You have forced me into this position. The Ebola virus is nearing my country. I will not allow it to enter. You understand?”
“Yes,” yelled Fallubah as he continued breathing deeply.
“I do not want to continue hurting you, but I will. Where is this damn boat going?”
“To meet up with our friend.”
“Who is that?”
“Foday.”
“Is he carrying the virus with him?”
“Yes.”
“How does he plan to enter the United States?”
“I do not know.”
“Fallubah, I will shoot the other one.”
“I do not know. I swear it. Why would he tell me?”
“Will anyone else be with him at the location?”
“Yes, Dayo.”
Michael found some bandages and stopped the bleeding the best he could. Either way, the man would never walk normally again. Fallubah would have to pay the price for his participation in the evil scheme. He sometimes hated these kinds of aggressive tactics, but his targets always deserved it. Why should he care if a crazy terrorist cannot walk if it saves the lives of countless individuals?
Into The Shadows Page 23