Kara stood back up on her tiptoes and whispered into Kornev’s ear, “When he pulls that trigger, we need to get the hell out of here.”
Kornev turned his head and whispered, “I’m with you on that. If that missile misses the target, I don’t want to be around for the aftermath.”
Very slowly, Kara and Kornev began to take baby steps backwards, placing as much distance as possible between the jihadi and themselves.
Someone yelled, “What’s going on?”
Kara heard the voice coming from the surf in front of them. Baako was about waist deep as he began walking out of the water. Apparently, he had completed his swim.
Afua acted as if he didn’t hear his brother. Instead of answering him, Afua pressed the weapon’s trigger.
In the blink of an eye, the missile ignited. In a great magnificent whoosh, the projectile left the launch tube and rocketed skyward.
“Run. Go, go!” Kara urged Kornev. They began running toward the compound.
Afua let the launcher fall from his shoulder to land on the soft sand at his feet. He watched the missile climb and begin making a slight turn to the left, arcing toward the slow-moving cargo plane. And then, just as the two objects were set to collide, the missile streaked past the plane.
“What the hell just happened?” Afua asked Kornev. The Nigerian never took his eyes off the missile.
Now, well past its intended target, the missile began to turn. A year ago, when Afua had been trained on the weapon, Kornev had told him if the missile were to miss its target, it would attempt to turn to make a second pass, tracking the same heat signature in the sky.
Afua watched intently as the missile made a sharp crisp turn and began to head back toward the plane.
At any moment, Afua fully expected the missile to hit the plane. He watched with anticipation, holding his breath, and waited for the midair explosion. But once again, the missile missed its target.
“What is happening?!” Afua yelled, turning to Kornev for an explanation. The Nigerian was both surprised and perplexed that Kornev was no longer standing there. There was no Kornev. There was no Tonya. He looked up toward the house and saw Kornev and his girlfriend running up the path.
The soldiers next to Afua saw the same thing. They quickly put two and two together, and Afua’s men began running in opposite directions. Afua didn’t make any attempt to run. He hadn’t run from anything his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start. Instead, the jihadi turned back toward the missile. He could no longer see the profile of the weapon. All he could see was a dot that represented the nose of the warhead. The Verba was streaking directly toward him.
Afua held up a clenched fist and let out a guttural scream of defiance. Traveling at Mach 3, the warhead hit Diambu dead center in the middle of his forehead. A concussive explosion shook the trees and bushes. As the shockwave danced across the sand, traveling out and up, the windowpanes and sliding glass doors of the compound above were blown out of their heavy frames. The guards that had begun running down the beach didn’t stand a chance. They survived the initial explosion, but the ensuing shrapnel shredded their bodies like they were made from mere cheesecloth. They went down face-first into the deep sand.
The shockwave of the blast skipped across Badagry Creek and threw Baako back into the waves. Flames and flying debris fanned out in all directions, burning and shredding everything in its wake. A thick cloud of smoke, sand and vaporized vegetation formed over the crater where the missile struck.
Twenty seconds later, Baako poked his head out of the water and looked around. Once he realized the fireworks were over, he slowly walked out of the surf and onto the beach. Where his brother had been standing now existed an immense blackened crater slowly filling with saltwater. Afua, his twin brother, was simply gone. He had been cremated within a cloud of white silica that was softly falling from the sky like gritty snow. Although his twin was dead, he knew Afua’s past would have eventually caught up with him. He was just grateful he had sent the entire family off to Lagos to pick up supplies to have some fun in the sun when he had heard about the test firing. Relief swept over him as much as did the sorrow and overwhelming anger. Baako put his face up toward the sky, closed his eyes and said a prayer for his brother. He had always known that someday Afua would pay the ultimate price for his sins on this earth, but it was up to God to take his life. Not up to the arms dealer or his — his—
Baako lowered his face and opened his eyes. Where was the Russian and his girlfriend? Baako scanned the beach. To his right, he saw one of his brother’s guards in a heap on the ground. And, then to his left, he saw another guard had also met his demise. Baako looked up toward the house and saw Kornev and Tonya climbing the deck’s stairs, retreating into the house.
Without giving it a second thought, Baako began running after them.
Rond Point Port — Aboard the Hail Proton
From the video feed streamed from Seagulls’ cameras, the crew on the Hail Proton witnessed the entire event. Everyone in the room was stunned into silence. It was one thing to know the missile guidance system had been altered so it would return to the coordinates from where it was fired. It was another thing to watch real time and on high-definition monitors. The results were sobering. Any of the young crew on the ship who thought that this was some sort of unconventional video game saw firsthand the lethal results.
The crew watched as a sole survivor emerged from the water. The black man slowly walked up and looked at the crater left from the missile strike. He then lifted his face skyward and closed his eyes.
“Where are Kara and Kornev?” Hail asked.
A cloud of sand and smoke hung in the air as if it was its own ecosystem. There was almost no wind and there was nothing to dissipate the haze.
“From Seagulls’ position over the water, I can’t see anything past the explosion,” Wilson said.
Hail told Starling, “Take a look around with Turtles, and see if you can spot Kara and Kornev.”
“Roger that,” the girl said, and she panned, using Turtles’ head, the beach from the far right to the far left. When the camera had fully examined the area toward the compound, Starling said with excitement, “Got ‘em. They are climbing up the deck stairs.” The pilot zoomed the drone’s camera providing the crew a clear shot of Kara and Kornev running up the stairs.
“Diambu’s double is gone,” Wilson announced.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” Hail asked.
Wilson responded, “I mean I saw him standing on the beach a moment ago, and now I don’t see him.”
Hail asked Starling, “Can you get a fix on him?”
Starling twisted her joystick to her right in a clockwise motion, and the head of Turtles began to pan back toward the beach. By the time the slow-moving drone’s head had made the transition, the man they knew as Diambu’s double was already within twenty yards of Turtles’ position.
The entire crew saw the image of the man running toward them — toward their turtle drone next to the path.
A flurry of objectives, intentions, and options passed through Hail’s mind. Each of the varying issues competed for his immediate attention. Hail didn’t know who this person was, so he didn’t know if he was dangerous. He didn’t know why the man was running toward the house. But when it came down to it, Kara’s life, as well as the success of the mission, were of more importance than this man, regardless of who he was. At the very least, this unknown double was neck deep into Diambu’s operation.