“My name is Marshall,” Hail had said, reaching out with his huge white hand that swallowed up Jason’s little black hand. Hail’s manner was warm. Jason didn’t get the same heebie jeebies he had gotten when his mom had brought home men to meet him.
“I’ve got a number of kids, orphaned because of The Five, who now call my ships home. They attend school and they have a lot of fun. There are opportunities to learn life skills, but you are expected to work in the shops on the ship.”
Wilson looked at the man like he was Santa Claus. He was big like Santa, just not fat, and he didn’t have a beard. But his name was Marshall, and that made Jason think of some of the old Westerns he had seen on TV. Those Marshalls had tin stars and fast six shooters. They were always the good guys.
The big man continued, “I hear you got straight A’s at the school you went to before your mother passed away.”
“She got shot in the head,” Jason had told the man named Marshall. Then he felt he had shared too much information.
Hail had said in a kind voice, “I’m sorry about your mom, but I want you to stay with us. I want you to learn how to fly planes and drive cars and learn math and science and all the other great things you would learn if you went to a university. Is that something that you would be interested in doing?”
Considering that Jason’s only other choice was being handed off to a family he knew nothing about, the man offering a pipe dream won hands down.
At the age of 15, Jason Andrew Wilson became the legal ward of Marshall Hail. A week later, Jason found himself aboard the Hail Proton inside a simulator flying a Piper Cub airplane.
Now, two years later, he was Hail Proton’s best pilot.
Jason checked the numerous virtual gauges, lights and sensor indicators on two of his four monitors.
He spoke into his headset, “Captain, Foghat is good for launch.”
Back at the hangar deck, with the phone still pressed to his ear, and his finger still on the big red button, the captain of the Hail Proton began the countdown. “We will be away in five, four, three, two, one—”
The captain pressed the red button, and Foghat vanished with a hiss and a roar.
Captain Nichols said into the phone, “The drone is away.”
Once the drone had been thrown into the sky, the engine fired, and both the wings and the tail sprung from the fuselage. When the flight surfaces were in place, back in the mission center, Jason pushed his flight yoke all the way to the right, rolling the drone 180 degrees into its proper flight attitude. As the drone climbed and picked up more speed, the wings began to slowly sweep backwards, creating less drag without sacrificing lift. This would not only increase the speed of the drone, but also get better gas mileage.
Back on the hangar deck, Lang, Parker and Nichols watched through the deck hatch opening as the drone vanished into the night sky. The captain flipped another switch, and a huge iron slab above them rolled forward. The trio watched as the deck hatch closed until it had fully slid back into place with a metallic clang.
Back in Hail Proton’s mission center, Jason reached cruising altitude in no time, considering it was no more than 500 feet. He would keep the drone below radar for the entire trip. Once he was close to his target, he would dip Foghat lower to drop off the turtle drone into the waters encircling Snake Island, Nigeria. This would be an uncomplicated flight. He would be flying over water the entire way, with the coastline to his left.
Wilson eased himself back into his comfortable seat and relaxed. On one of his high-definition monitors, he watched the moonlight dance off the water below while the drone raced towards its destination.
Two Years Ago
Caribbean Sea — Porlamar, Venezuela
The Nigerian Princess docked in Porlamar, Venezuela which is a few miles from the mainland. By this time, Afua was in remarkably bad shape. His body had not been able to replenish the blood he had lost from his leg wound. Obano called ahead for an ambulance to pick up himself and a semiconscious Afua at the dock. The ambulance had taken them to the nearest hospital staffed with a surgeon. Neither man knew much about the condition called hypovolemic shock, also known as hemorrhagic shock. Unlike Afua, who had seen men die from this ailment, Isaac had not. The medical condition was explained to him by a triage doctor, who had told him that if a person lost more than twenty percent (or one-fifth) of the body’s blood supply, it was impossible for the heart to pump adequate amounts of blood to their organs. Hemorrhagic shock, untreated, resulted in organ failure and death.
The doctor and the staff initially asked Isaac how Afua had cut his leg. Obano had anticipated this question. He told them Afua had been servicing the yacht’s diesel engines while they were running. He explained his first mate’s leg came in close contact with one of the many rubber belts that crisscrossed the front of the large engine and the powered ancillary generators. Just a mere tap of soft flesh on one of the belts would result in an injury that resembled getting tapped on by a chainsaw. The actual wound on Afua’s leg agreed with the reason Obano provided. Thus, the doctors didn’t question Obano any further about the incident.
Obano had been asked to go to the waiting room. He had been assured by the hospital staff they would let him know more about Afua’s situation after they assessed his medical situation.
But, instead of waiting for him in the cramped waiting room, Obano went to the intake counter and provided the lady at the desk his cellphone number. He asked her to have the hospital call him with any information about Afua Diambu, who was registered at the hospital as Jesus Savage. When Isaac was asked for his first mate’s name during the intake process, he had given the name, Jesus. He almost added the last name Afua had given them — Savage. Instead, he mumbled out the single word Nazaer. The lady looked quizzically at him for a moment before jotting it down.
Given the serious nature of Afua’s injuries, dehydration, and immense quantities of blood loss, Obano determined it was possible the jihadi could be
there for several weeks, that is, if he lived. Fortunately, there was no big rush to return to Nigeria. Afua’s mission had been time-critical, but his mission was over. Thus, the longer Afua was in the hospital, the more time the Obanos could spend with one another to enjoy their vacation in the beautiful Caribbean. Obano gave the hospital’s finance administrator his credit card number, and then he returned to the yacht.
Gulf of Guinea — Aboard the Hail Proton
Foghat came in low and slow. Turtles was heavy and would make a big loud splash when it hit the water. Wilson had been told to make the drop at very specific coordinates. It would be dumped far enough away from the beach, so the drone could not be seen by the guards stationed on the beach. But not so far away that Turtles ran the risk of running out of battery power before climbing out the water to its designated spot. Wilson checked the drone’s flight altitude and slowed Foghat down enough without stalling the aircraft.