“Will do,” Starling said.
The video began replaying the requested segment. The instant the group had passed within three feet, the drone automatically switched to a fisheye lens. Even though the people passing in front of the lens were grossly distorted, like they were standing in front of a bent funhouse mirror, the camera had recorded their entire bodies from their feet to the top of their heads.
“Freeze it right there,” Hail said. It was frozen at the point Kara began slashing at her neck.
Kara was wearing a T-shirt and shorts without shoes.
Hail and Nichols studied the image, looking closely at Kara. Hail examined her clothes for telltale bulges, incongruent with Kara’s curves, but consistent with explosives strapped to her body.
“I don’t see anything,” Nichols finally said.
“I don’t either,” Hail agreed. “And if I had a bomb under my shirt, I sure the hell would have lifted my shirt up to make sure the camera got a good look at it as I passed by.”
“I would have as well,” Nichols agreed.
“So, she is not wired to an explosive,” Hail said with some relief.
“Then something must have changed,” Nichols suggested.
“Yeah, but what?” Hail said, almost to himself. “Rewind it again, but this time run it forward in slow motion. We have to be missing something.”
Using the right monitor mounted to his captain’s chair, Nichols took control of the video and pressed the double back arrow icon. The video played backwards until the group was about twenty feet from the drone. The captain pressed the single forward arrow icon, and the video began playing one frame at a time. In a jerky fashion, the guard passed the camera. Hail couldn’t see anything on the man that would cause Kara to scrub the mission. Then Afua Diambu walked by the camera. He was wearing swim trunks with no shirt. A towel was draped over his right shoulder. He didn’t appear to have any weapons of any type on his person. Then Kara walked by, repeating the vexing slashing signal. One frame at a time, Hail and Nichols studied the video.
Nothing.
“Let’s watch it again,” Hail ordered.
Nichols looked frustrated, but he did as Hail wished.
The guard walked by again, and then Afua Diambu walked by, and then— “Wait!” Hail said. “Freeze it right there.”
Nichols did as Hail instructed, and the video came to a stop with Afua Diambu centered in the frame. His long muscular legs led up to his brightly colored swim trucks, and then up farther to the towel, and finally, the top of the frame focused on the man’s head.
“Do you see something?” Nichols asked.
“I don’t see something, and I think I know why Kara was signaling us.”
“What do you mean?” the captain asked.
“The bio on Diambu the CIA provided us reported that Afua Diambu suffered an injury during his taking down of United 1045. He was treated at a hospital in Porlamar, Venezuela for a severe leg wound. He should have a nasty scar on his right ankle. But right there,” Hail said, drawing a circle on the video screen with his finger, “on his right ankle — this guy has nothing. Not even a hint of a scar. This guy isn’t Afua Diambu. He’s a double. That’s why Kara signaled for us to scrub the mission.”
“Damn,” Nichols said. “After all this work. All this prep and it’s been a double that has been swimming every morning. And God only knows how long this has been going on.”
Hail shook his head and tried to decide how best to proceed.
Seagulls had flown in closer to the group on the beach. The guard was now standing about thirty feet behind Kara and the Diambu double dropped his towel on the sand. He was walking into the gentle waves. Kara was sitting in the sand and appeared to be picking up shells and inspecting them. She noticed Seagulls flying directly in front of her and made another slashing signal with her finger across her neck.
“Yeah, we understand you, Kara,” Hail said to himself. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”
Snake Island, Nigeria
Kornev awoke to discover Kara was not lying next to him. He stretched, checked the time on a clock next to the bed and considered going back to sleep. Although Kara didn’t have much to gain from snooping around the jihadi’s compound, Kornev didn’t feel comfortable with her out of his sight. He climbed out of bed, located his clothes from the day before and hurriedly put them on. He spent a few minutes in the bathroom and bedroom, closing the door.
Kornev heard sounds coming from the large living room down the hall. He saw two men dressed in fatigues exiting the elevator with the two black cases Kornev had brought to Diambu. Victor saw that Afua was seated at a large glass table adjacent to the kitchen area eating breakfast. Two black women were in the kitchen either cooking or cleaning. They wore jeans and T-shirts, but Kornev couldn’t tell if they were hired help or more of Afua’s extended family members.
The men toting the cases opened the sliding glass doors and took them outside and set them down on the deck. Afua waved Kornev over.
“Please sit and have some breakfast,” Afua said.
Kornev walked over, pulled out a chair and sat. One of the women in the kitchen placed a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of him. Afua poured Kornev some coffee and some type of red juice. He put the glasses in front of Victor.
“What’s up with the—” Kornev paused, not sure if he wanted to say the words in front of the women. He decided on the word, “cases.”
“We are going to do a little testing this morning,” Afua told him.
Kornev didn’t immediately understand what the jihadi was telling him.
“What kind of testing?” Kornev asked, concerned.
“Live testing, of course,” Afua said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Live testing here? Now?”
“Yes,” Afua said. “You see I only need one of the missiles for the mission I have in mind. The other missile I bought from you is a test missile. I need to know that I am getting what I paid for.”
Kornev didn’t know what to say. He knew that the guidance had been altered on the missiles by Hail’s people. If the modified missiles didn’t hit their mark,
Kornev could be in big trouble. Sure, he could try to shrug it off and blame it on many factors outside his control, but people like Afua typically didn’t take excuses in stride, especially considering the exorbitant prices Kornev charged him for the weapons.
“I can assure you that these missiles are from the same stock as the one you used in Venezuela. And, if I’m not mistaken, that missile worked perfectly.”
Afua waved his hand at Kornev, as if he were erasing his words from an imaginary chalkboard.
“It has been many years since then, and weapons can deteriorate over time. It’s also important for my men to see me fire the missile. They need to understand that I am still — still—” Afua searched for the right word. Then, as if Afua suddenly realized that he didn’t owe the Russian any type of explanation, he simply stopped talking.
Kornev was quiet for a moment before asking, “Don’t you think that the Nigerian authorities would be upset with you launching a missile?”
“It’s my island. They don’t mess with me if they know what’s good for them. If they do want to get involved in my affairs, they understand they will no longer be in authority for very long. You can’t be an authority of anything if you are no longer breathing.”
Kornev looked around for a moment. He checked the deck outside, scanning the long wooden framework from one end to the other.