The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

“Let me check.”

  A minute later he looked over and smiled.

  “Yep, got it right here.”

  He proceeded to zoom in until the entire crater and all of its buildings filled the screen.

  “Shit, it’s a pretty big place, and thermal imaging won’t penetrate the buildings.”

  “I know, but I’m assuming that they had to have a pretty big vehicle to move all the women, and I’m thinking a minivan at the very least. If we can find the vehicle, we can determine the actual building.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Doug zoomed in even more then meticulously scrolled over each building until he found a white passenger van parked beside an outlying structure.

  “That’s likely it,” he said.

  “OK, now we have to figure out the best way to do this.”

  I brought up Google street view and did a visual walk-through of the grounds. It was standard government issue with chain link fences and barbed wire, and, annoyingly, there was a lot of open ground between the fence and the building, and the entire area was likely well-lit considering the abundance of lamp posts. A stealthy incursion was therefore going to be difficult to say the least.

  “Any thoughts?” I asked.

  “They have a three hundred and sixty degree view with no obstructions,” Corn said.

  “I was thinking the same thing. No wonder he chose that place.”

  “Of course, we can’t even be sure that Frank or any of his people will be there,” John said.

  “I suspect Frank will stick around,” I said.

  “Yeah, but you heard him. He could detonate the bomb from anywhere in the world. Why not take off?”

  “He’s an egomaniac. I think he’ll hang around a bit to glower and gloat,” I said.

  “OK, so, assuming he stays on site. What’s our best way to get in there without him seeing us and pushing the button on his phone?”

  Doug smiled.

  “I think Beebs already nailed it earlier. Do a high altitude low opening jump, but this time drop right in on their blind spot by landing on the roof.”

  “How in the hell could we put that together on such short notice?” I asked.

  “Well, we are currently sitting here with the vice president of the United States and the deputy director of the CIA.”

  “OK, suppose we somehow arrange a plane and a fucking parachute—who’s going with me?”

  Everyone suddenly got quiet.

  “Corn?”

  “Jesus, I haven’t jumped out of an airplane since that last mission in Afghanistan when my chute fouled.”

  “Have you done any jumps lately?” Doug asked me.

  “Not in the traditional sense.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I used a parasailing rig to infiltrate Soft Taco Island, and I also escaped out of the back of an old cargo plane on a pallet being used to air drop supplies to a remote village in Jordan.”

  “Good enough, let’s arrange a ride,” John said.

  “Fuck it. Why not. You only live once.”

  “And only die once as well,” Beeber added.

  “So who do I call?” John asked.

  “I’ve got this one,” Dave said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, hello! I was an airborne Ranger, so believe me—I know who we can go to for help with parachuting on this island.”

  Dave got on the phone, made a call, and five minutes later had me booked on a private charter with a local parachute company. The owner was a retired Navy SEAL and former member of the elite Leap Frogs parachute team, and he was more than happy to do a favor for his friend Dave as well as the vice president of the United States. Now, we had the beginnings of a plan, but it was time to set it in motion. First and foremost, Beeber, Doug, and Jerasian would continue trying to hack into Frank’s bomb and hopefully deactivate it long before I even touched down on the ground. In the meantime, the rest of us and a team of Secret Service would immediately head to the airport, where I’d leave the group and get on the plane. The others would continue on to Diamond Head and hang back on the periphery, except for Dave, who would hike up to a good observation spot and serve as my forward air control of sorts. With all the teams in place, I would parachute in and make a quiet incursion so as not to alert Frank or Rex if they were indeed on site and keeping watch over our women. When I had secured the location, I would signal for everyone to come in and clean up the scene. We all had a task to perform, but mine, as usual, was the most dangerous.

  We left the resort, and twenty five minutes later we were meeting Captain Carl Binder USN retired. He was a genuinely nice guy with movie star looks, perfect teeth, and the obvious physique of a SEAL—meaning lots of upper body development. He was around six foot and didn’t crush my hand when he shook it, which I always saw as a good sign of a secure well adjusted person. The others left to get in place while I went inside with Carl, and he gave me a brief refresher course before allowing me to personally pack my chute. It was a habit from the good old days of Pararescue and always gave me a little more confidence when I was stepping off into the great blue yonder.

  With everything ready to go, we walked out onto the tarmac and met the pilot. His name was Dennis, and he was also former Navy, which gave me yet another boost of confidence that he wouldn’t accidentally drop me off somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. The engines fired up, and we belted in and prepared for takeoff. Four minutes later we had clearance, and the PAC P-750 XL airplane was soon lifting off and taking us skyward. This particular aircraft could fit more than fifteen people, but tonight, including the pilot, there were only three of us, and the emptiness of the plane only made the journey that much more foreboding.

  “So, how long since your last jump?”

  “Five or so years.”

  “And last night jump?”

  “Five or so years.”

  “Well, don’t worry. It’s as easy as falling off a horse.”

  “Yeah, a twelve thousand foot horse.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t be that high. This is actually going to be more of a LALO,” he said, with a smile.

  “Low altitude low opening. Funny.”

  Low altitude meant having less room for error. If my chute fouled, I would have very little or no time to cut it away and deploy the reserve, which made the possibility of dying a horrific and premature death a much greater possibility. I looked out the window and saw the lights of Honolulu glimmering not so far below and started to wonder what kind of idiotic adventure I had gotten myself into. Then, I thought about Violet and the others and realized that my task, no matter how difficult or treacherous, needed to be done. So that others may live. That was my credo in the old days, and I was again living up to its noble standards.

  “Approaching Diamond Head. Time to get ready.”

  We stood and walked towards the rear of the plane, and Carl clicked into a safety harness then opened the door. Soon thereafter, the pilot called out from the cockpit.

  “Ten second warning.”

  Carl counted down.

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three—good luck, PJ,” he said, patting me on the back.

  Out I went into the dark Hawaiian night, where the drone of the plane was instantly eclipsed by the roaring howl of the wind. I threw out my arms and legs to stabilize my descent, then took a moment to get my bearings and sight in on my target. The Diamond Head crater lay just below, and its well lit interior and buildings stood out in stark contrast to the dark outer rim. I maneuvered a little to my right and adjusted my course and soon could discern my landing zone. Six more seconds passed, and I checked my altimeter and saw that I was at my target altitude, and it was time to pull the ripcord. I said a silent prayer for my testicles then yanked. The drag shoot trailed out, then shortly thereafter the main shoot popped open, and my balls slammed deep into the parachute harness, which made their cries of angst almost audible over the rushing wind. Still, their temporary discomfort meant that I had again avo
ided a premature demise—at least for the moment, anyway.

  “Chute successfully deployed. How’s the LZ look? Over.”

  “All clear. No one in sight, over,” Dave responded.

  “Roger that, I’m heading in, over.”

  With the chute open, my course was more subject to the wind and, therefore, more difficult to control as I tried to steer towards the target building. I’d done hundreds of jumps, and the coordination and muscle memory came back quickly, but this was still the most brutally short refresher course I could have ever imagined. I was about two hundred and fifty feet from my target and reaching the most critical part of the jump. If I missed the building’s roof, then I would land out in the open and forfeit any possibility of surprise. I needed this to be perfect. So far, I was right on course, and, better still, the wind was now mostly non existent with my descent now shielded by the crater’s high walls. The roof drew ever closer, and when it was only about fifteen feet below me, I pulled back on the straps, and the chute flared, and I landed in the very center of the roof as softly as a butterfly’s kiss. Safely on target, I cued my mic and spoke.

  “The eagle has landed,” I said.

  “Roger that, I have visual,” Dave responded.

  “As do we,” John said.

  Somewhere up on the ridge above me was Dave, and somewhere off in the crater around me were John, Corn, Babs, Douglass, and Sandra. The nerds were of course back in the hotel room, where they had plenty of wifi that they would hopefully utilize to deactivate the bomb.

  “Any word, nerds?” I asked.

  Beeber’s voice suddenly came on the radio.

  “We’re close. Already hacked into their local area network, but we’re still working on getting into the actual explosive device, over.”

  “Roger and out.”

  I rolled up my parachute, stowed it beside an air conditioning unit, and took a minute to survey the roof and gather my courage. I’d done plenty of rescue operations but very few where the majority of the hostages were close friends let alone lovers. This one was therefore especially difficult on many levels, with the first and foremost being that it was entirely personal. I pulled out the Beretta, chambered a round, and then moved along the roof to look for a way down into the building. For once, luck was on my side, as up ahead lay a roof access hatch. I tried it and and found it open, which wasn’t too surprising, as practicality often won out in large bureaucratic systems like the National Guard. People had to access the roof on occasion and having a locked hatch called for a key—something easily lost in a large building with an ever changing and semi-transient population. Therefore, it made more sense to leave it open, especially when you took into account the obvious question as to who in the hell would possibly try, let alone be able, to gain access to the building via the roof—without a parachute and a death wish that is.

  The building was two stories tall and about the size of a small gymnasium, which meant I had a lot of ground to cover. I quietly descended a white steel ladder to find myself in some kind of janitorial maintenance room. I slipped past the mops, buckets, and cleaning supplies, and moved out into a large and dimly lit hallway. All was clear as I walked along and checked each room I passed until finally coming to a closed door. I turned the knob and opened it to discover the entrance to the stairwell. That was it for this floor, so it was time to go downstairs.

  “Nerds, any news, over?” I asked.

  “We’re still working on the device. Any minute now, over.”

  “Good, I’m getting closer to the lion’s den, over.”

  I moved into the stairwell and down past the middle landing to the main floor. The stairs continued lower to some kind of basement level, but I needed to clear the main floor first to make sure someone didn’t sneak up behind me—most likely that fucker Rex. I turned the knob and opened the door a crack and saw another empty hallway, and I slipped outside and moved along and checked each room before rounding a corner and seeing a light on at the end of the hall. I eased silently forward with my gun at the ready until reaching the edge of the doorframe, whereupon I peered inside and, judging by the bank of security monitors, had discovered some kind of security room. I stepped inside and took a quick look around the room before turning my attention to the monitors. The entire building and outside were completely covered by cameras, which at least justified my extreme means of infiltration. I turned my attention to the center monitor and saw that it had a wide angle view of the women, and they looked as they had earlier, except, from this vantage point, I could see that Frank was working on a computer off to the side. Clearly, I had the right building, but I still needed to find the right room.

  Just as I turned to leave, Rex appeared in the doorway, and he was holding a silenced SIG Sauer. He reacted quickly and fired off several rounds, but I dove behind the desk then rolled to the other side before popping up and returning fire. My shots impacted the doorway only inches from his head, and it sent him diving for cover. With Rex temporarily out of view in the hallway, I immediately got up and moved, as close quarters gun battles were all about sighting your enemy, shooting, then changing positions as soon as possible. People who camped in one place generally got killed, so, if I wanted to live, I needed to move.

  I took up residence behind the door and was precariously perched on top of a small filing cabinet. It was a ridiculous location, but the idea was to be in an unlikely a place as possible in order to add a little surprise to our next exchange. Rex wasn’t your average bear, so I needed to get creative if I hoped to stay alive. A second later he came through the door, and he stayed low as he quickly swept the room. He obviously wasn’t expecting me to be up on the cabinet to his right, and I used that moment of confusion to fire off two rounds, and they impacted him center chest. He gasped in pain as he fell backwards onto the floor, and I hopped down, closed the distance, and kicked his pistol out of his hand before realizing he, like his fellow security men on the estate, was wearing a bullet proof vest. The impact had stunned him, but he was quick to react, and he spun and kicked out my legs from under me. I was knocked to the floor beside him and now had to contend with a very dangerous adversary in extremely close quarters.

  Our first point of contention became my gun, which Rex was trying his best to twist free from my grip. It wasn’t a bad idea on his part, as it was generally a good strategy to focus on the item most likely to kill you. But, it also made you vulnerable, because you could become overly focused and forget about other avenues of attack—point in fact being my next move. I used my leg to deliver an awkward but reasonably powerful kick to Rex’s knee, and it hurt enough to make him release the pistol. It seemed like a really excellent move on my part until the fucker responded by slamming his elbow into my chest. It was a solid hit, and it knocked a fair amount of air from my lungs, so I needed to come up with a decent plan of action if I hoped to avoid another one. I therefore tossed my pistol across the room, where it skidded to a halt about fifteen feet away. Apparently, Rex thought this was a mistake on my part, because he smiled cruelly before he spoke.

  “That was a bad move,” he said.

  “We’ll see.”

  He tried to scramble across the floor for the gun, but I managed to get ahold of his ankle and lock it under my armpit in a figure four hold. Obviously, Rex thought that going for the gun was the correct strategic move, but I saw it as a direct insight into his skill set and potential weaknesses—namely hand to hand combat. All special operations guys learned unarmed techniques, but their primary goal on a mission was to get the job done, then get the hell out of Dodge. That meant going in with heavy firepower, shooting first, and asking questions later. There generally wasn’t time or reason for fisticuffs. I, on the other hand, just happened to have been a bit of an oddity, as I’d loved and done martial arts from an early age and was just as happy to lose the gun in this instance and settle it empty handed—mano a mano.

  With his leg locked up, I kicked out and caught him in the groin and doubled him
over. Fighting through the pain, he rolled onto his back and returned the favor by using his other leg to land a kick to my chest that sent me backwards. This freed his ankle, and he scrambled onto his feet and made another break for my gun, but I managed to twist my legs around in time to catch him at the knees. With one leg in front and one in back, I rolled over and performed a take-down that put him face first onto the hard linoleum floor. From there, I kept my right leg in the crook of his knee and moved forward and trapped his foot against my waist. He tried to raise up and squirm free, but it was too late. I had him pinned and used that moment to land a hard punch to the base of his skull that sent his forehead smashing into the floor yet again. I repeated the punch two more times for good measure then released his leg and moved in to apply a proper blood choke. To his credit, Rex still had some fight in him and managed to roll away and struggle back up onto his feet, where he now had blood dribbling from his nose and flowing down his chin.

  I got to my feet as well, and we stood toe to toe and squared off like a couple of fighters in a ring. He threw a feint with his left then followed with a nice right jab that just caught the edge of my jaw. He might not have been the best at hand to hand combat, but he could throw a decent punch. Happy to have landed a blow, he got reckless, however, and threw another, though this one was a big sweeping haymaker. I parried it with my left hand and caught it with my right with a move called a block-check-counter—only the counter was still to come. Continuing with the motion of his punch, I pulled him forward and into a low left hammer fist straight into his solar plexus. He doubled over, and I took hold of his head and delivered a brutal knee to his face in the hope that it would at last finish him off. Against all odds, he broke free and fired off a quick undercut straight into my solar plexus, and it nearly knocked all the wind from my lungs. I stepped back to catch my breath but kept my eyes on Rex, and I had to admit that I was more than a little surprised at his ability and drive to continue the fight. It was now abundantly clear how he had gotten into Delta Force—sheer inimitable force of will.

  He decided to take advantage of the success of his last strike, and he stepped forward and threw another uppercut. This time, I brought both hands down to block, and the moment I had stopped its energy, I threw a right vertical fist into his solar plexus then immediately followed it up with a right side palm to the same target—the double blow being a purposeful attempt to knock the wind out of him. He was stunned and unable to respond, so I used that moment to throw an elbow up under the chin, and his head rolled back and was now clear for a back fist square on the nose. It impacted right on target and compounded his nose injury and clouded his vision. He wobbled on his feet with his eyes unable to focus, and I realized this goose was just about cooked.