“Looks like we are out of the water,” Sarah told everyone. “I’m reeling in the communications tether.” She pressed a virtual button on her screen labeled, COMMS RETRACT.
As the last few drops of water dripped from the head of Turtles, and the camera lens cleared, they would be able to autofocus at the looming and well-lit white compound ahead. Turtles had landed right on its mark and was clawing its way out of the wet sand. Directly ahead was its designated nesting zone.
“Dang, James. You nailed that drop,” Sarah commented.
“Still flying Foghat back to the Hail Proton,” Wilson responded with a cocky tone, “It’s just what I do.”
“I think you’ve only done it once,” Sarah responded, trying to take her fellow pilot down a notch.
“I’ve only done one drop, so that would make me one for one, or a 100 percent total career accuracy.”
Sarah laughed. Captain Nichols reminded his young crew, “Let’s concentrate on the mission, folks. We’ll have time for all this jibing later.”
Sarah composed herself and reported, “Twenty feet from the water, and we are starting to hit some deep sand.” She rolled a wheel under her thumb to elevate Turtles’ head to compensate for the deep sand.
“It’s a little sluggish in this deep stuff, but not bad,” Sarah said. She kept both of her joysticks pressed forward and watched as the building in front of them grew larger in the video frame. From this vantage point, the white compound appeared to be three to four stories high — if the sundeck atop the structure was considered a story. Many of the rooms appeared to have a light on, and dozens of exterior flood lights illuminated the property surrounding the building.
Using a toggle atop her right joystick, Sarah pressed it to the left using her thumb. Turtles’ head craned to the left. From the available ambient light, she could see quite a distance down the beach. There didn’t appear to be any guards patrolling the beach in that direction. She did see a few other dark bumps on the beach that looked as if they were either large wads of seaweed or possibly other turtles. She pressed the toggle to the right and Turtles’ head shifted likewise. There were two significant objects that immediately came into view.
A guard was about fifteen yards away and walking directly towards Turtles. The other object, less than two yards away from her drone, was another turtle clawing its way through the deep sand.
Sarah immediately released the joysticks which brought her drone to a complete stop. If the approaching guard did nothing more than glance at the two turtles making their way toward their nests, he probably wouldn’t give them a second look. Very little could be done by Hail Proton’s drone engineers to mask the mechanical sounds Turtles made as its tracks ratcheted on hard gears being driven by loud electric motors. There was not enough room within the drone to include foam or other noise-dampening material. It wasn’t as if it made a huge racket when its tracks were moving, but it sure the hell didn’t sound like any other turtle in the world.
Hail Proton’s crew watched as the turtle next to them continued its way down the beach. The Nigerian guard was dressed in dark fatigues and had an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
Everyone held their breath as the solider walked directly toward their immobile turtle. And, just as it appeared he was going to step over the shell, the man purposely stepped directly on Turtles’ back. It was a quick decisive action. It was clearly not an accident. Diambu’s guard purposely stepped on it, as if it were a rock in the middle of a stream. Then he continued down the beach.
“I guess that guy most be pretty bored?” Captain Nichols suggested.
“I know I would be bored if my job was to walk up and down a beach all night,” Sarah agreed.
Once the guard was safely twenty yards down the beach, Sarah pushed both control sticks forward until Turtles came to life, and she moved it toward the compound.
It wasn’t difficult to find the path leading up to the main building. The compound’s exterior flood lights illuminated enough for Sarah to easily locate the mouth of the little path. It took less than three minutes for Turtles to move ten yards towards the main house. Sarah Starling released the left joystick, and Turtles turned left. It turned off the path and drove into extremely deep sand and tangles of low brush. Her instructions were to move three yards off the path, and turn the drone 180 degrees, so the cameras within Turtles’ head would face the trail. A minute later, Sarah had performed the maneuver after which she released both joysticks.
“How much power do we have left?” Nichols asked.
Sarah looked at the monitor that showed Turtles’ vitals and reported, “About 50 % battery reserve power.”
“That should be enough if Diambu goes for a swim every morning,” Mitch commented. He checked some information on one of his monitors and then told
Sarah, “Put Turtles to sleep to conserve power. I will notify Hail everything is in place.”
Sarah pressed a button labeled SLEEP MODE and Turtles’ head retracted and its systems powered down, except for one chip that monitored the signal. This chip was responsible for either making the drone WAKE UP and for ordering it to explode with the order BOOM.
Two Years Ago
Caribbean Sea — Port of Spain, Trinidad
Christopher Columbus had renamed the island from Iëre (Land of the Hummingbird) to La Isla de la Trinidad (The Island of the Trinity). This fulfilled a vow he had made before setting out on his third voyage of exploration.
Isaac Obano had no intentions of waiting for the jihadi to convalesce in the Porlamar, Venezuelan hospital. Once the realtor returned to the Nigerian Princess, he had told his wife to put on a bikini, and he then cast off from the dock. Obano had looked at the map and decided that Trinidad would be a great place to kill some time, during which time Afua’s health either got better or he died. Either course was just fine with him.
Isaac Obano’s life had not been all that wonderful up until this point. He had seen a lot of nasty things done to people undeserving of those acts — all in the name of the Boko Haram attempting to move up the food chain and improve the cards they had been dealt. Those who saw the atrocities either supported the warlords in control of a section of dense and meaningless jungle, or you were the people the warlords preyed upon as they ascended their ladders.
Obano found it was more profitable to stay on the good side of warlords once he had factored in longevity, health and happiness. As a realtor, Isaac held the keys to dozens of properties currently either vacant or those soon available. Those homes, apartments and trailers represented a commodity the warlords needed and would pay handsomely for the property’s use. Thus, Obano could provide safe houses to those able to pay for such extravagances. Hell, it didn’t cost Obano a dime to allow someone to stay for a few nights in a dwelling currently unoccupied. His contract specified his clients permitted him to manage and sell their properties, exclusively. That reduced the possibility of another realtor walking in on a sect of mean-looking men in the living room holding three hostages strapped to chairs with genitalia wired to car batteries. That reduced the resale value in a heartbeat.
Did he condone the activities that occurred behind closed doors on the properties he managed? No, not particularly. Would it be better if he could simply work as a realtor and avoid the reprehensible goings-on taking place? Sure, but that’s like saying it would be nice to breathe oxygen on the moon. He worked within a bubble of revulsion. Horror had become such an integral part of his life that now very little fazed him. But Afua shooting down that commercial jet weighed on his conscience.