“That CIA agent currently aboard your ship is very attractive,” Trevor probed.
Hail brightened a little.
“Yes, she is,” he said.
“Yep, pretty and single, and she is on your ship.”
“Affirmative,” Hail said coyly.
“So, is there anything, or should I say, do you have any—”
Hail interrupted.
“If you are asking if we are interested in each other, I think the answer would be yes,” Hail stated.
“So, you haven’t — ah—”
“The answer would be no,” Hail said. “Are there any other personal things you would like to ask me?”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Trevor responded, sounding a little hurt. “I just want you to be happy. And I don’t know Kara Ramey very well, but I think she is looking for happiness as well. I just get that vibe.”
“Oh, and you are the expert on vibes, Mr. I can’t find a woman who will put up with me Rodgers.”
“Ouch!” Trevor said. “Man, going for the jugular on that one.”
Hail either looked, or acted, embarrassed.
He said, “Sorry, I just don’t want to rush into anything. For some reason, it seems like if I went down that path, I would somehow be abandoning the memory of my family.”
Trevor nodded and said, “I don’t have a family, but I can understand that. Still, you have to move on at some point.”
Hail nodded back, bunching up his lips.
“I’m sure I will eventually, but not today and probably not tomorrow.”
“Well, today is over in my part of the world, and your tomorrow is already here.”
Hail laughed. “Well, you better get some sleep if you want to be chipper for our meeting,” Marshall suggested.
“Yep, tomorrow will be a very interesting day.”
“Interesting, how?” Marshall asked.
“Goodnight, Marshall,” Trevor said. He pressed END.
Two Years Ago
Caribbean Sea — Aboard the Nigerian Princess
Crossing the vastness of the South Atlantic Ocean had been relatively uneventful. The weather had been good, and except for the incident with the pirates trying to assume control over their vessel, the Nigerian Princess and its three passengers were all in good shape.
Afua had learned quite a lot about boats, or ships, or whatever classification this luxury yacht fell into. Isaac had taught him how to use the electronic navigation system, and how best to monitor the ship’s various systems and alarms. He had demonstrated how the Doppler weather radar worked and showed Afua how to negotiate large weather systems. But there were more than thirty-two critical ship functions and systems — way too many to teach his first mate in such a short amount of time.
In exchange for the nautical brain dump, Afua had taught Isaac how to shoot, but not the handguns or the AK-47s. Both men assumed that anyone could shoot a fully automatic AK. Just spray and pray was good enough for any situation they may encounter. Nothing to it. It always helped to keep your head down as well. But shooting the Barrett sniper rifle was a whole other situation. Shooting a long gun was hard enough from a stable platform, but being on a rocking ship made it a real challenge. Nevertheless, when they had reached their destination in the Caribbean Sea, they had thrown in the anchor and had taken out the Barrett.
Isaac was already proficient with guns. In the past, he had shot every model of gun they had on board, except for the Barrett. Now, up on deck with the big gun and lots of ammo, Afua showed Isaac how to hold the weapon in a prone position. He showed him how to aim at the thick red buoy they had set adrift. Most importantly, he taught him how to breathe. It was critical to regulate his body muscle control so he was as relaxed as possible before delicately pulling the trigger. Isaac soon discovered the smallest unaccountable twitch could cause a round that was headed downrange to go askew and miss the target, by not just inches, but by feet. All in all, Isaac was doing well. He was consistently hitting the buoy at 300 meters, which impressed Afua, considering they were on an unstable platform. The buoy had dozens of holes in it and was starting to take on water.
The men were considering putting another buoy in the water when they saw a large white ship on the horizon headed in their direction. For a moment, there was a measure of indecision of action to take. After all, the sniper gun was already
sitting there in place and ready to fire. But the size of the approaching ship made Isaac reconsider the option of using the weapon. A high conning tower could be seen on the gray vessel, as well as several flags that were hard to make out from this distance.
Isaac dropped down on his belly, put his eye up to the scope of the rifle, focusing the scope until the ship came into sharp view.
“I think it is the Venezuelan Coast Patrol,” Isaac reported. “It’s a big ship. Hard to tell what type since it is coming straight at us. Maybe the Guaicamacuto-class or Point-class vessel.”
Before they had ever left Lagos, Isaac had studied all the ships in the small Venezuelan fleet. He tried to be prepared for any contingency in life, and the preparation for this unsavory trip had been no different.
Afua quickly made his way toward the back of the Nigerian Princess. He awkwardly jumped from the ship and into the small white boat hanging over the water. The little boat swayed a little on the cables suspending it from the yacht’s winch. Without giving it a second thought, Afua pulled out the dead man’s switch from the dashboard. There was a pinging sound of metal underneath his boat, and then the center hull of the boat fell into the water below.
Afua looked over the side in time to see the long section of his boat disappear under the blue water headed for its resting place on the bottom of the sea. With that task completed, Afua plugged the cord back in. He quickly jumped out of the boat, hustling back toward the yacht’s bow. Isaac met him in the middle of the ship. He was carrying the Barrett and the ammo can.
“Quickly,” Isaac said, handing the gun and ammo to Afua. “Take all this down below and stow it in the trunk. There is no law that says that we can’t have weapons on board to defend ourselves, but I want it to look as if it is the furthest thing from our minds. Remember, my wife and I are on vacation. You are our deck hand, and you don’t speak any language they use.”
Afua simply nodded his head in understanding and took the weapon below. Once the jihadi had made it to the lowest deck, he flipped on the light and located the weapon’s trunk. He stowed the Barrett in the trunk and tucked the box of ammo next to it. He closed the lid and latched it, pausing for a moment. Without giving it a second thought, Afua reopened the trunk. He located a small 9mm Berretta handgun, slipping it into the back waistband of his shorts. He left the small room, making sure he turned off the light before heading up.
By the time the Venezuelan Coast Guard ship had drawn alongside the Nigerian Princess, Afua was in the ship’s wheelhouse. He had donned a skipper’s cap and a white polo shirt. Isaac and his wife were sunning in chairs on the aft deck. Essie
was dressed in a tiny yellow bikini and looked like the rich Nigerian wife of a successful businessman. Isaac had removed his shirt and was wearing a baggy blue swimsuit. The Obanos held drinks as they lay on the sundeck. Getting up from his chair, Isaac offered a gracious wave as one of the men on the Coast Guard ship tossed him a rope. Isaac tied off the line to one of the Nigerian Princess’ chrome-plated cleats, and the ships became one.
On board the Coast Guard ship, a contingent of men had already begun the boarding process. Several of their men scampered over the rail of the Nigerian Princess. One of the men had a clipboard, and Isaac assumed he was the captain or officer-in-charge. In total, Isaac counted six men had boarded his ship. Two of them were carrying assault rifles at the ready. Those men eyed Afua with great interest. Each officer was in possession of a sidearm, secured in black holsters, including the officer headed toward Isaac.