Obano went over to a storage hatch and retrieved a few selections of rope. It took the men less than five minutes, and the little tri-hull boat was tied off and secure.
Afua tested getting in and out of the dinghy, making sure that it would not be a problem if they were interdicted at sea. Confident that he could get to the little boat’s controls very quickly, he did a visual inspection to make sure the detachable middle hull was securely attached and would not be noticed during a search of the Nigerian Princess. The Russian had told him to check the third hull for gaps between it and the boat. Inspectors would look for anything that made the third hull look like it was not part of the boat’s manufacturing process. Afua looked at the third hull from different angles. If he didn’t know it could detach, he would have assumed that it was fused into the fiberglass.
Obano had been standing next to Afua waiting for the tall jihadi to finish his inspection of the tender.
Afua finally turned toward Obano, and the realtor motioned toward the glass doors that led into the main cabin of the yacht.
Obano took the lead and slid open the doors, and both men went inside.
The first thing Afua noticed was not the handcrafted teak wood that paneled what looked like a large living room. Instead, he noticed the temperature. It was so cool inside the core of the yacht, and it was even a little cold for him. Over the years, as Afua had climbed the ladder in the Boko Haram terrorist cell, he had been collecting more money and the spoils of their operations. And with that money came better living quarters for he and his large extended family. They had moved from something that resembled a wooden hut in Batagarawa to the city of Kano, where he had rented a small apartment that lacked air conditioning. After a few more years, marked by more kidnappings, stealing and murdering, he and his family had moved once again. He moved them to the city of Abuja, but just a month ago, Afua and his family moved to the city of Lagos where he rented what was considered a large air-conditioned apartment. Yet, Afua was still fully acclimated to Nigerian daytime temperatures of 100°F. Thus, he found air conditioning to be uncomfortably cold.
Inside the yacht, with the temperature hovering around 72°F (22°C), he was downright cold. The sweat on his body quickly cooled, and the drop in his core temperature registered in his brain.
“It’s cold in here,” he told Obano.
Obano walked over to thermostat and said, “No. It’s only 72°F.”
“That’s cold to me,” Afua replied.
Obano shrugged and adjusted thermostat until it was set to 77°F.
From further back in the ship, a wood door opened, and an attractive black woman in her 30s entered the room. She was holding a stack of folded clothes; atop the clothes were new brown sandals.
“Ah, there she is,” Obano said with a smile.
“Honey, this is our new passenger,” Obano said, gesturing toward Afua. “And his name is—”
Obano looked at Afua, raising his eyebrows, waiting for Afua to fill in the information.
“Jesus,” Afua offered, blurting out the first name that popped into his head. Diambu hadn’t considered that his contact, Obano, would not know his name. But then, when he thought about it, it was best his real name wasn’t known. The less information they knew about him the better.
“Your name is Jesus?” the pretty lady asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Afua responded softly.
“And what is your last name?” she asked.
Afua almost said Christ but quickly modified that to the name Savage.
“Jesus Savage,” the woman said, as if she were trying the name on for size. “Those two names don’t really fit together, if you know what I mean.”
Afua just smiled, deciding that he had talked enough about his fictitious name.
Obano said, “Well, Jesus, this is my wife, Essie.”
Instead of a handshake, Essie handed Afua the clothes she had been holding.
“Why don’t you follow me, Jesus, and I will take you to your quarters. You can change there. I’m sure you can’t wait to get out of… of… whatever you are wearing there.”
Afua looked down at his dirty tan cargo pants and black T-shirt. He didn’t often give much consideration to how he was dressed. Most of the time, he was in the jungle with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. The long pants were good for protecting his legs from all the creepy-crawlies that inhabited Nigeria and the northern desert. There were some wasps as big as his hand that hunted and killed tarantulas. Sometimes, if Afua was going deep into the jungle and would be in the thick of it for days, he would wear a long-sleeved shirt or a light coat. But most of the time, it was simply too hot for additional clothing.
Instead of going out the same door in which she had entered, Essie Obano began to descend a narrow stairway to the right of the door.
Afua followed, allowing his eyes to wander, drinking in the opulence of the yacht. He didn’t know if the yacht belonged to the Obanos. It had been rented in Lagos from a high-end dealership that catered to those who had made their riches by serving either by the blood diamond trade or feared the Boko Haram. Both situations were equally as compelling.
Isaac Obano was a prosperous realtor and worked almost exclusively for both clienteles. The blood diamond industry was still big business, and Isaac sold multimillion-dollar villas to those who were at the top of the diamond heap. They were those individuals who bought, sold and smuggled diamonds out of Africa. He also purchased land, warehouses, homes, apartments, farms and islands for members of the Boko Haram. It had taken him from the rank of a low-level realtor, who peddled ramshackle dwellings to those who could barely afford them, to a rich and powerful businessman. And once he had hooked up with diamond smugglers and terrorists, his bank account bulged as did his zest for life.
Isaac Obano had been approached a month ago by a man named Victor Kornev. The big Russian informed him the Boko Haram would like him to go on an all-expense-paid Caribbean trip. The only thing he had to do was take along a stowaway. The extra person would help pilot the vessel and with chores. Initially,
Obano had declined. But a day later, Obano met a man who walked into his Lagos office. He introduced himself simply as Iniabasi, who had brought several of his soldiers with him. As he explained what he wanted Obano to do, his soldiers stood quietly around the room pointing their automatic weapons at him. Iniabasi didn’t have to talk very much or for very long before Obano agreed to take the proffered trip. Isaac had been assured that no harm would come to he or his wife. But, if he didn’t go on the trip, Iniabasi could not guarantee that the length of Obano’s life would be as long as he would like. Neither could he guarantee the lifestyle he had become accustomed to would continue.
Taking a boat trip didn’t bother Isaac Obano in the least. He was an experienced navigator and captain, owning a much smaller yacht in addition to a large sailboat. He understood the complex systems embedded and threaded through the Nigerian Princess like human veins. He was also competent with the complex navigation instrumentation. This trip would not be complicated. It was pretty much a straight shot across the Atlantic Ocean, staying directly parallel to the equator. And that was a big old fat line to follow on any navigation system.
What bothered Isaac Obano was the man who joined him on the trip across the ocean — the man who called himself Jesus. From all outward appearances, the tall lanky Nigerian did not appear to be dangerous. He was not boisterous or overly talkative — that he could detect. He appeared soft-spoken and courteous, but he was aboard the yacht for a reason. And if Jesus Savage was part of the Boko Haram, that reason probably meant that someone would die. All Obano could do was hope, other than getting Jesus to Venezuela, he and his wife did not factor into their plans. The flipside was Isaac knew for sure they would both die at the hands of the Boko Haram if they didn’t agree to make the trip. People like Isaac were a dime a dozen to the jihadis. But if he did their bidding, Isaac was worth saving, or at least not worth killing. It was as simple as making a deal with the devil. But, in this case, the devil’s name was Jesus.