Two Years Ago
Caribbean Sea — Aboard the Nigerian Princess
The storm made retrieving Afua and his boat very difficult for Obano. With Afua mostly out of commission, it was all Afua could do to throw Obano a line. Now, it was solely up to Obano to determine how to get the boat over the stern of the Nigerian Princess.
After tossing Obano the line, the world began to grow distant for Afua. A dark haze enveloped his vision, actions and thoughts. It was as if he was inside a mechanized suit of armor, but the damn controls were rusty. The machine was difficult to control. After throwing a second line up to Obano that was tied to the back of the little boat, the shield on the helmet of Afua’s suit of armor closed. Darkness cloaked the jihadi, and his mission was over.
Obano fought against the waves. One moment they pulled Afua’s boat away from the yacht, but a moment later they would slam the vessel up against the hull of the big ship. He finally got the lines tied off the best he could, stabilizing the back and front of the boat with Afua still inside. Struggling to keep his balance, Obano clumsily clipped in the cables to the Nigerian Princess’ winch. He was no longer concerned that he would lose the little boat. Only a tidal wave could break the cables that were reeling up the boat, lifting it slowly out of the angry saltwater.
Lightning lit up the entire Caribbean Sea, and the clap of thunder that followed was so loud he inadvertently ducked his head. The realtor understood the lightning was beyond his control, but getting the Boko Haram terrorist back aboard was something very much within his control. Obano manned the winch until the boat had been tugged into its secure spot on deck. Using some orange tie-downs, he strapped the boat to the yacht’s stainless-steel cleats. The little boat’s rocking became one with the rocking of the Nigerian Princess. He stood back to catch his breath.
Water poured off the bill of his baseball cap, and the rain had soaked though his white polo shirt. Combined with the wind, Obano was surprised how cold he had become. He had never considered he feel cold in the middle of the Caribbean.
He took in another deep breath and caught a glimpse of his wife looking out the thick sliding glass door at him. She looked concerned, and he figured she had a right to be concerned. With Afua out of commission, if Obano went flying over the side of the boat, there would be no one left to pilot the huge yacht. He figured his wife could probably learn how to operate the radio to send a request for help.
She may even be able to start the engines to make it ashore. But it would be best for all concerned if none of those actions were necessary.
With the little boat secured, Obano climbed over the gunwale of the ship and saw an unconscious Diambu lying on his back on the floor of the boat. One of Afua’s legs was wrapped in duct tape. The color of the water that sloshed around was bright red. He performed a quick assessment of the situation and determined he had two clear choices. He could either save the Nigerian soldier or not.
Option A: Roll him over the edge of the boat and onto the deck of the Nigerian Princess.
Option B: Roll him over the other side of the little boat and into the angry sea.
There were advantages and disadvantages to both.
He understood Afua had successfully completed his mission, and he would be celebrated by the Boko Haram. That meant Obano would get more business from the jihadi sect. But, Afua was also dangerous and a huge liability. If Afua left any evidence behind that could lead authorities to the Nigerian Princess, Afua would present a big problem. If Afua was found on Obano’s yacht, both he and his wife would never see the outside of a prison cell for the remainder of their lives.
If he chose option B, it would not require an exhaustive explanation from them when they returned to Nigeria. Afua had left their ship to perform his mission, but he had never returned. Simple as that. If that happened, then Obano would have had no other choice but to return to Nigeria empty-handed.
The flipside of option B: Obano felt Afua might be of value to him. After all, the current leader of the Boko Haram was getting old, and someone would succeed him. With Afua’s newfound fame, he was relatively certain Diambu would become their next leader. Having the Boko Haram indebted to you was as good as gold. Having a powerful ally was always better than having a weak friend. Everything and everyone was against you in modern Nigeria due to a combination of several factors: a corrupt government, angry warlords and people pushed to the edge by poverty and crime. These factors culminated to create a society where everyone was out for themselves.
Bending down, Obano stuffed one hand under each of Afua’s armpits, and he began to lift him over the railing of his little boat. Over one railing, Afua would fall to the sea. Over the other railing, Afua would land safely on the deck of the Nigerian Princess.
Obano hoisted Afua up over the railing of his little boat. He let him go.
Termez, Uzbekistan
They left the Russian doctor’s home less than an hour after they had arrived. Kara felt the impact from the three shots of liquor they had consumed. She was feeling a little dizzy and giddy. If Kornev was buzzed, she couldn’t tell. His injury in his hand wasn’t a hole. Technically, the bullet grazed him, disintegrating more skin between his thumb and index finger. The doctor did little more than suture closed the webbing of the skin that had remained intact. Kara surmised Kornev would have difficulties fully spreading out his hand, until the wound had healed. But over time, she assumed the skin would stretch out, and he would regain full motion. The doctor had applied some antibiotic self-dissolving glue to the incision. He told Kornev the glue would act as a bacterial barrier while the wound healed. Thus, there was no need for Kornev to wear a bandage.
Back aboard the Hail Nucleus, inside the security center, Taylor reported to the crew, “Kornev and Ramey have just come out of the home and are getting back into the Hummer.” As the Hummer pulled out onto a small and narrow dirt street, Taylor turned her drone Foreigner so it pointed in the same direction.
Dallas Stone typed out Taylor’s report, making a timestamped entry in a surveillance log. When Hail called, he could provide him an accurate report. This was procedure.
It took less than ten minutes for the Hummer to wind its way through the maze of Termez streets before arriving at Kornev’s compound. Instead of pulling up in front of the compound, Kornev’s Hummer pulled into a two-car garage in a home adjacent to the main compound.
Taylor reported the information, and Stone logged the information.
Kara jumped out of the big vehicle. It was a long way down to the ground. She walked around the front of the Hummer. Kornev was already standing there waiting for her. Next to them were some wooden stairs that reminded Kara of a set of stairs that led to her family’s basement.
Without saying a word, Kornev began descending the stairs. Kara followed. At the bottom of the stairs, Kara discovered that they were not in a basement. Instead, they were at the base of a long underground tunnel. The walls were made of cinderblock, and the ceiling appeared to be made from some sort of cement that had been applied and smoothed over.
“Where does this lead to, Mexico?” she joked.
Kornev didn’t laugh at her joke. Instead he said, “This is an entrance to my home.” His voice sounded distant, as if he was on guard and not in the mood to joke around. This didn’t set off any alarm bells with Kara. If she was an international arms dealer, she would probably have some trepidation when she left or entered her home. She was certain that Kornev never knew who would be waiting to ambush him in either circumstance.