On that morning, Obano, from the deck of the Nigerian Princess had been watching the planes’ departures from the airport. He had known what Afua’s mission was, but deep down inside, he hoped that Afua couldn’t pull it off. He silently wished that something would go wrong with the missile, or it would miss its target. Any scenario, other than taking down the airplane, would have been fine with Isaac.
But, as luck would have it, Afua had been successful in his mission. When United 9257 had been shot down, Obano felt sick to his stomach. It had been a clear day and the jet had been very close in proximity. He watched the streak of the missile racing skyward. The jet blew up, broke apart and, Obano watched in horror as two large pieces tumbled back to the earth. At the time, he hadn’t understood why it had affected him so deeply. After all, he had seen women and children shot and tortured. He had seen the worst men could do to one another.
But, maybe it had something more to do with the pure insanity of the act. Back home, when a warlord went on the warpath, there was a tangible reward at the end. Maybe the reward was more power, influence, land, money or property. But he could not comprehend what reward was gained by shooting down a plane occupied by a group of random and innocent people. On the contrary, according to Obano’s thinking, there was nothing on the “pro” column; instead, everything landed on the “con” ledger. Those carrying out this heinous act would be marked men for the rest of their potentially very short lives. Wouldn’t their accomplices, as well? If Afua Diambu claimed to be a terrorist, then this was an act of pure unadulterated terror, because the act served no altruistic purpose.
Watching the plane fall from the sky, had a profound impact on Isaac’s psyche as well. Shortly after the incident, he began to suffer from nightmares, awakening in spasms during the middle of the night, unable to return to slumber. Initially, he reasoned it was a predatory reaction to having had Afua on-board. For all Obano knew, killing he and his wife might be the final phase of the Boko Haram’s plan. Even with Afua 120 miles away — fighting for his life in a hospital — Obano still continued having the nightmares — specifically falling nightmares. It was like watching himself fall from the plane, experiencing the jet falling out of the sky to his death. The fall from the sky took forever — all night long — until he was incapable of sleep.
If there were a God up there, and He had seen the direct hand Afua had in the evil terrorist act of downing the airplane, that had taken place, Obano thought perhaps The Almighty almost took Afua’s life in retribution. Then Isaac began to wonder if this same God had him in His sights as well. Maybe it would take some time for God to circle back to squash Obano and his wife into the ground like ants for being accomplices in Afua’s wicked deed. If that were the case, Obano thought he better start having a good time — immediately. Hence, he left Afua at the hospital; he and his wife made a beeline toward paradise.
They were enjoying a wonderful massage at the Magdalena Grand Beach & Golf Resort. They had left the Nigerian Princess in the care of the dockmaster who was giving the boat a good cleaning and a rigorous servicing before they began their trip back across the Atlantic Ocean. The Obanos had been at the resort for more than a week, relaxing with drinks that had little umbrellas that were brought to them while they lounged on reclining chairs set in straight rows on the pristine beach. His wife had her hair braided in Bo Derek style, and she was beautiful. She was happy and looked radiant. The couple had enjoyed five-star meals and $500 bottles of wine. They had the best sex, and more sex, than at any time in their lives during the entirety of their marriage. Everything was perfect — at least everything should have been perfect. If it weren’t for the damned plane and that goddamned jihadi who was the cause for his horrible nightmares.
Obano’s phone rang. He looked at it for a moment, considering ignoring the incoming call. He contemplated forgetting his past life and remaining in Trinidad. There was probably some type of significant real estate property being exchanged on the island. He was confident he could make a quick transition to island life and chisel out a good living.
He sighed and answered his phone.
“This is Afua, and I’m ready to get out of the hospital. Come pick me up.” The line disconnected. Obano let it fall onto his bare chest.
His wife asked, “Do we have to go?”
Obano didn’t know what to tell her, because he hadn’t yet determined his plan of action.
Termez, Uzbekistan
Kara thought the Russian would place high priority on having sex, but as they emerged from the tunnel and entered his home, Kornev appeared highly distracted. She was relieved sex was not on the arms dealer’s mind. Initially, she thought the pain in his hand was the reason for his lack of libido. But that was not the case. Once inside, Kornev told Tonya to make herself comfortable while he packed, and he let her know she was welcome to make herself a drink.
“Where are you going?” she asked, foregoing the drink. Instead, she began walking around the room, taking it all in.
Kornev had disappeared into a room she assumed was his bedroom.
He called out, “The better question is where are we going?”
Kara looked around the room and saw nothing of any personal significance. He had no pictures hanging on the walls. No tchotchkes, books, framed photos or anything to indicate a human lived here. The living room was a good size and appeared to have comfortable leather furniture. The floor was a black slate material that was too masculine for her tastes. A thick sliding glass door opened to overlook a courtyard that had colorful bushes and flowers. A few wooden Adirondack chairs bookended a small matching table on the balcony. An open kitchen with modern appliances was in plain view. A few unlit hallways led to other rooms, but the doors were closed.
Kornev was not gone for long. Just minutes later, he reemerged from his bedroom dragging a small suitcase on its wheels. He stood his black bag next to the door leading to the tunnel.
The Russian looked around the room momentarily — the type of look one gave when leaving for a prolonged period.
“Where are we going?” Kara asked with more bluntness.
“It’s someplace wonderful, I promise you. In a few hours, we will have our toes in the sand at a very private resort home.”
Kara shrugged, understanding that was the extent of the explanation. Kornev looked disappointed because she didn’t appear more enthusiastic about their impending trip. His tone changed when he said, “You understand we can’t possibly stay here. Those flying machines could arrive at that very window at any time,” he said, pointing at the sliding glass doors.
He continued, “We need to go, and we need to go now. And I have some business I need to attend to as well, so—”
“This is just all too crazy,” Tonya said, doing her best to portray a party girl who had found herself in a situation way over her head.
Victor looked compassionate and said, “I understand how you feel, but I guarantee by tomorrow, you will have long forgotten all about this. Just you and me and some drinks and other fun stuff.”
Kara was not enthused about the fun stuff the Russian was referring to, but keeping in character, she responded with a sigh and said, “OK, but so far, this is not what I expected. Can I have my cellphone back?” she whined. She thought it was a natural thing for someone in Tonya’s shoes to request.