Nolan asked, “I thought you mentioned getting the bounties that are offered for these terrorists. Isn’t that a paper trail?”
Hail said, “There would be if I ever cashed the checks I was given. Currently, it is best to avoid leaving a paper trail, so I have not cashed the checks. Maybe in the future — once this is all over — I can give the money to charity. After all, it’s not as if I need the money.”
The group reached the conference room door, identical to all other doors on the ship. It was unlocked; Hail swung it open and his planning team followed him inside.
Nolan remembered this room. It was where they had first brought him when they had pulled him out of the ocean.
The meeting members pulled up rolling chairs to the large metal table and got comfortable.
Hail told Nolan, “This is an initial planning process for the mission. I’d like you to sit in on it so you know what we do — and get your feet wet. However, if
you notice something we are missing, have an idea or spot an error of any type, please let us know. Don’t be bashful.”
“I understand,” Nolan said, sounding impartial.
Hail pulled up some information from his laptop, and he gestured toward a large monitor on the wall.
Still photos from surveillance of a black man appeared on the screen. The man was sitting in a chair near a pool and appeared to be watching something in front of him. He was wearing nothing but a swimsuit. The setting looked casual, as if the man might be a father swimming in the pool with his family. However, the man was not smiling.
Kara began the meeting. “This is Afua Diambu. He is the new leader of the Boko Haram terrorist cell in Africa. He is also rumored to be the triggerman that downed the Boeing 737 in Caracas, Venezuela, killing 205 people.”
Hail pressed a key on the laptop and the image of Diambu changed. It was the same angle, but the camera had zoomed in closer to the jihadi’s face.
Kara continued, “These photos were taken at the Federal Palace Hotel in Lagos, Nigeria several months ago. Diambu’s entire family was staying at this hotel. At least we think it was his entire family, and we were extremely fortunate to have our undercover operative take a few photos of Diambu from his room on the second floor. These are the only known photos of him.”
“The head of the Boko Haram was the trigger man?” Nolan inquired. “I would think that they would use a soldier to do that dirty work.”
Kara responded, “He was a soldier at the time. Well, our intelligence indicates that he was a lieutenant, having been in the Boko Haram for more than a decade before given the assignment to take out United 1045, one of the elements of The Five.”
Nolan looked as though he understood, so Kara continued, “Since that time, Mohammad Mboso, the former leader died, and Diambu became the new leader of the terrorist cell.”
Renner said, “This makes him high on our list of targets, because he was not only just the trigger man, but also he is now their leader as well. Two great reasons to take this guy out.”
“Sounds good to me,” Nolan said.
Nolan was somewhat disappointed that this was not the man who had shot down the plane that his brother had been on, but he supposed that both Kara and Hail felt the same way. It didn’t change the fact that Diambu was still a rabid animal and needed to be put down.
Hail began clicking through photos of the same chair, same guy, different expressions, none smiling. Some showed him talking to someone out of frame. Then the photos began to change as the camera zoomed on different parts of Diambu’s body. All the photos were being shot of jihadi’s right side. There were several pockmarks on his face. It was a result of acne that had healed, but it had left damage in the way of pits. There was a closeup photo of Diambu’s right arm. There was nothing unique — it could have been anyone’s arm. But the next photo was compelling. It was a closeup of Diambu’s right ankle which showed a deep and viscous scar that hadn’t healed well and it ran horizontally across his lower calf muscle.
“What’s that?” Kara asked.
“A scar,” Hail replied.
“I know that; I mean that’s ugly. That’s not a gunshot scar. It’s like a laceration of some type.”
Renner said, “It looks even worse. The scar is wide and ragged, as if something tore open his leg, not simply cut it.”
Hail clicked to the next photo which showed his foot. More photos flashed on the monitor that showed Diambu’s hands and other body parts, but there was nothing of significance. He went back to the initial shot of Diambu’s face.
“OK, what type of bio do you have on this guy?” Hail asked Kara.
Kara flipped through some screens on her iPad and reported, “Afua Diambu. Born in the Katsina, Nigeria area in the town of Batagarawa. Joined the Boko Haram when he was nineteen. He doesn’t have a wife or kids, and his mother his deceased. His father is unknown. He currently supports his brothers and sisters. We don’t know how many and have very little information about his siblings. We do know that a few of his brothers and sisters have children, and Diambu supports all of them. I would encourage you all to read the entire dossier on Diambu when we’re done here.”
Kara paused while she changed screens.
“As was already stated, these photos were taken at the Federal Palace Hotel in Lagos, but Diambu lives in a heavily guarded compound on Snake Island, which is on the outskirts of Lagos. His compound faces the Badagry Creek, which sounds small, but it is the intracoastal waterway of the Gulf of Guinea.”
She asked Hail, “Can you pull up the shots of the compound?”
Hail moved his mouse around and clicked the cursor a few times. An aerial shot of a building, surrounded by what looked like thick walls, appeared on the screen. He zoomed back a little, so the entire building appeared in the frame.
“Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said it was a well-guarded compound,” Nolan said. “It looks like a prison.”
“It looks more imposing directly above than it does from a side view,” Kara assured the lieutenant commander. She continued, “But to begin with, let’s go ahead and analyze what we are seeing from above. Marshall, can you zoom out a little more so we can see the entire island?”
Hail did as Kara requested.
“As you can see, Snake Island is called an island because Badagry Creek encircles the entire landmass. Snake Island is 14 kilometers long by 1.5-kilometers wide. It is located opposite the Tin Can Island Port located in the city of Apapa. Surprisingly, for an island of this size, there is only one small bridge that connects it to the mainland. There are many people who live on the island, and the Niger dock is right here,” Kara said, flashing a laser pointer on the screen, “as well as a small airfield here.” She moved her pointer to what looked like a runway. “And this airstrip gives Diambu the ability to come and go as he pleases.”
Hail zoomed in on the southern part of the island where Kara had been focusing her pointer. Kara added, “Snake Island is the perfect place of operations for Diambu. He controls the dock; therefore, he can smuggle just about anything in and out of Nigeria.”
“Are you thinking of making an ingress via those docks?” Nolan asked.
Renner fielded the question. “Well, at this point, we really don’t know how we want to get to him. Let’s let Kara finish with what she knows so we have all the facts.”
“Sounds good,” Nolan agreed.
Everyone in the room studied the port, airfield and surrounding buildings. Once Kara was certain they had been briefed on the pertinent details she asked Hail, “Marshall, can we focus back on a wide aerial of the main house?”
He made the adjustment until they could see the dense white compound in addition to a kilometer of jungle surrounding the residence.