If Afua could make a list of the most unfortunate things that could occur, the first item on that list would be engine trouble. The second misfortune would be for the Coast Guard boat to round the craggy rocks and reenter the bay. He didn’t know how far the small Coast Guard boat had traveled from his current position, but one thing he knew for sure was they would be on their way back to the bay. As soon as they had seen the plane go down, and he was sure they had seen the plane go down, they would have turned around and began heading back to where the first parts of the plane had landed.
Luck was with Afua. The little engine caught and began to purr. He was also relieved that, up to this point, the Coast Guard boat was nowhere to be seen.
Moving the throttle lever backwards, Afua snapped the engine into reverse and gave it some gas. Looking behind him and into the bay, Afua saw nothing of concern. There were no small boats of any type on the water, probably because the Coast Guard continually warned off day-trippers who ventured into the restricted area.
The little boat shot backwards and abruptly changed direction when Afua pressed the throttle forward. The bow of the boat jutted upwards, causing Afua to glance out the side to make sure he was far enough away from the rocks. The bow came down as the boat accelerated and began to plane across the calm water. As Afua reached the tip of the jetty and began to move out into open water, he was certain the Coast Guard boat would be rounding the corner of the jetty. To his right, in the direction in which it had exited the bay, Afua didn’t see the Nigerian Princess. He scanned the surface of the water more closely a second time, and he did indeed discern the familiar outline of the vessel. But it was far away, several kilometers down the coast. By the time the boat made it to Afua’s current position, Afua would already be safely back aboard the Nigerian Princess.
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Afua reached with his other hand to pick up the launcher. Not giving it a second thought, he dropped it over the side of the boat. If he was stopped, there would be no evidence connecting him to the downed plane. Just when he thought he was home free, he noticed the fake middle hull of the boat — the case that had held the missile and launcher resting on the floor in the back of his boat. Afua groaned to himself, knowing that he was going to have to get rid of it. Removing a bungee cord stored in a niche under the dashboard, the Nigerian strapped the steering wheel to a stainless-steel cleat on the side of the boat. He kept the engine wide open as he fell out of the chair and rolled back onto his knees. It was only four excruciating meters to the stern of his boat, but each meter felt as if he were crawling over a bed of nails. The waves were not exceptionally high, but the boat was moving fast and bouncing around a little. Each bump drove Afua’s legs into the floor of the boat. Each bounce jostled his bad leg sending waves of agony to his brain. He made it to the empty case and took in a few deep breaths. Using all his reserve strength, he lifted one end of the case up and onto the lip of the boat’s stern. Afua maneuvered himself to the front of the case, and still lying on his back, he pressed the case up over his head as though he were a weightlifter. The case began to slide along the railing, and with one additional push, the case disappeared. The engine was so loud that Afua didn’t hear the case hit the water and really didn’t care. He knew it was heavy and would sink to the bottom in seconds. As quickly as he could move, Afua moved toward the driver’s seat. Using his good leg, Afua jacked himself back into the chair.
Afua glanced down at the towel tied around his leg. There was very little white remaining on the towel. Most of it was bright red. Afua could feel himself getting weaker as the adrenaline in his system began to wear off. He felt lightheaded, like he was high, dehydrated or maybe a little drunk. But he was none of those. The high he had been feeling earlier had been pure adrenaline. And now, as the chemical was purged from his system, he was experiencing the flip side. It was no different than a heroin junkie going through withdrawals. Afua’s withdrawal had been much more condensed. He had gone from being high to being stone-cold exhausted and lightheaded in less than ten minutes. Afua had been shot before and had lost a significant amount of blood. Thus, he was familiar with the sensations he was feeling. He had also seen many of his comrades die due to blood loss. At one time, Iniabasi had explained to him that if a person lost fifteen percent of one’s blood, there was little change in their vital signs. If you lost thirty percent of your blood volume, then you would start feeling cold and your heart would start racing. If you were unfortunate enough to lose forty percent of your blood, you were in big trouble. With this much blood loss, a person would experience low blood pressure and begin to lose mental faculties. At that point, you were majorly screwed. Organs began to shut down, and then death was only minutes away. But, Afua didn’t intend for any of that to happen to him.
He pulled another bungee cord from the plastic cubby under the dash and wrapped it tightly around his damaged leg. Starting just above the gooey-red towel, he gave it three good wraps, before connecting it together with thick hooks below the cut. He knew he couldn’t leave his leg wrapped like this for long, but he didn’t need much time. He could already see the Nigerian Princess dead ahead, less than a mile away. He looked around for threats. There were no vessels moving with purpose in his direction. He just had to ensure he didn’t pass out, and he’d have it made. That’s when he saw the Coast Guard Cutter pull out from behind the Nigerian Princess.
Sulu Sea — Aboard the Hail Nucleus
Instead of using the complicated video system in Hail’s conference room, Kara opted to use her cellphone to contact her boss, Jarret Pepper. Since arriving on board, Ramey had suspected that one of Hail’s engineers had tampered with her phone, allowing Hail and his team to listen in on her calls. Once she had convinced herself that this intrusion had taken place, she began talking to her boss in a language that she called Zub-a-dub. She had made it up as a child, and the CIA had developed a smart phone application that Pepper could use to decipher her words. Before he responded in English, the reply was translated back into Zub-a-dub. It worked well. However, this call would not require that level of security. What Ramey had to tell Pepper was information she had already discussed with Hail and his crew.
The other reason why she didn’t want to use the video system was to avoid seeing Pepper’s face. There was something about the man that rubbed her the wrong way. He had an air of superiority she disliked. Just because she was beautiful, she felt Pepper disregarded her other assets. He didn’t focus on her intellect, only on her beauty and how it could be weaponized. She realized that being beautiful got her close to some very dangerous men. But wasn’t that the way it always worked whether you were in the CIA or not? Beauty attracted all sorts of men with agendas, and typically the number one agenda was not to discuss politics or the world economy. It didn’t help Pepper was newly divorced. Rumor had it his wife had taken practically everything. She felt that Pepper was predisposed to dislike women, in general. As Kara waited for the phone to make the long-distance connection, she thought of a joke she had read online. “Why is a wife like a hurricane? Because it comes in sucking and blowing, and when it leaves it takes the house and cars.” She smiled to herself.