Hail had changed into a green polo shirt, a tan pair of khakis and he was wearing tan socks with no shoes.
Kara had kicked off her black high-heels when they had first sat on the couch.
Kara had insisted on buckling back up in the CEO flight chairs for the landing in at Dakhla. Hail thought it was a prudent decision, but had little confidence that the flight chairs would protect them in any way if the plane did a nose dive into the hot sand of Morocco. He didn’t see a need to mention that to his guest.
One of the video monitors came to life and the face of Gage Renner appeared on the screen.
“Hi Marshall,” Renner said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No, not at all,” Hail said. “I would like you to meet Kara Ramey. She is a superspy for the CIA.”
Kara looked at Hail like he was an idiot.
Hail continued on with his introduction.
“Kara, this is my friend and the guy running the show while I’m away, Gage Renner.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kara and Renner said at the same time. Both gave a wave in place of a handshake.
“Marshall, the reason I’m calling is because we have a security situation at reactor number two in Haiti,” Renner said.
Hail looked serious.
“What’s the issue? Hail asked.
“It doesn’t look too bad, but three men have scaled the perimeter fence of reactor number two and they’re making their way toward the control building.”
“Are they armed?” Hail asked.
“No, they look young, like between sixteen to eighteen years old. They look hungry, if you know what I mean.”
Hail thought for a moment and asked, “Can you put the feed on screen number three here in the jet?”
“Sure,” Renner said, looking down at a control panel. He pressed something.
Hail and Kara looked at the screen to their right. A second later, the video began streaming images from the camera on top of the control building in Haiti.
Kara was amazed at what she was seeing, but remained silent.
Hail analyzed the feed. Three rail-thin Haitians were about a hundred yards away and walking slowly toward the camera. One young man was tall and the other two were relatively short. The tall man was the only person wearing a shirt, but it wasn’t much of one. It was an old tee-shirt that was too dirty to make out the lettering on the front. At one time it had been blue. All three men were wearing old gym shorts and were barefoot.
“What quadrant are they in?” Hail asked.
Renner checked a screen and replied, “They are currently in quadrant 10C, but they’ll be passing into 10D in about thirty seconds.”
“Did you give them an audible warning of any type?”
“Yeah. Jack in our Reactor Security Center played them the canned blurb in Haitian that told them to leave the premises or they will be arrested.”
“That’s funny,” Hail said. “We should change that. Instead of the word arrested we should replace it with the phrase hurt or killed. The police in Haiti are a joke.”
“Sure, we’ll get right on that, but first we need to deal with these guys.”
Hail watched the boys as they passed a tall cylindrical poll that had the signage 10-D written on it in big red bold letters.
“What are your thoughts?” Hail asked Renner.
“Less than lethal is a good start,” Renner responded.
“Are you thinking of blowing the airsoft on 10D?”
“Yep,” Renner said.
“Is the charge prepped on 10D?”
Kara whispered to Hail. “What’s less than lethal at 10D?”
“In each quadrant we have those poles you see there.” Hail pointed them out to Kara on the video monitor. “Each pole has several different colored plastic rings that go up the pole. See the rings?” He pointed them out on the monitor as well. “Each ring is filled with a different projectile type. Inside each ring is also a few winds of primer cord, you know, an explosive that is made out of pentaerythritol tetranitrate.”
Kara nodded her head even though she knew little about primer cord, let alone the explosive it was made from. She had gone through a short course in explosives at The Farm at Camp Peary, but it had only covered the basics. And the only thing she remembered was; if an explosion is eminent, then run.
Hail was still talking.
“This white one,” Hail said, pointing toward the top ring on the pole, “is filled with airsoft BBs. The exact same kind that us kids played with when we were growing up.”
Kara nodded her head that she understood.
“This next ring down,” Hail explained, pointing at a blue ring under the white ring “is filled with regular steel BBs. And so on and so forth,” Hail said. “Each ring becomes more and more lethal. The next one down is filled with broken glass, the next one down from that is filled with jacks, like the kind that kids don’t play with anymore. Each ring is more deadly until we get down the bottom ring which is filled with ball-bearings. The amounts of primer cord we use is calculated carefully for each stage of lethality.”
Kara looked concerned.
Hail said, “Needless to say, if we blow the bottom ring, then we have gone from the less than lethal to the fully lethal option.”
Kara looked at the video of the men walking toward the reactor control building. Just within the current angle of that one camera, she counted five such poles.
“Alright,” Hail said, getting back to business. “Renner, tell Jack to blow ring one on 10D.”
Renner pushed a button and said, “Jack, blow ring one on 10D and wait for further instructions.”
A few seconds later, the white ring on top of the pole stenciled 10-D exploded. A ring of white blasted out into the open area as the shockwave left the pole. But it wasn’t a shock wave. 20,000 white Airsoft .20gram BBs spit out in every direction. The concussion of the blast caused the video stream to jitter for a few seconds and then it was clear again.
Kara thought it was strange watching the explosion without any sound.
All three juveniles had fallen to the ground and were gabbing at different parts of their bodies. They had been stunned by the blast, peppered by the BBs and now were just beginning to come around. One of the boys, the tall one got back to his feet and began looking around in all directions. Hail was certain that the Haitian didn’t know what had just happened or where the blast had come from.
“Don’t walk toward the control center,” Hail said to himself, as if pleading with the man who could not hear him.
“Do we have any Haitian speaking interpreters online right now?” Hail asked Renner.
Renner responded, “Nope. Sorry Marshall. Our only interpreter is in the rack right now. We can get her up and online, but it will take a few minutes.”
“I speak a little Haitian,” Kara told Hail.
“Do you?” Hail smiled at her.
“Renner, patch our mics through to the control building speakers in Haiti. Kara wants to talk to our friends.”
“Patching now,” Renner said making the changes on his console. “OK, you are good to go.”
Inside the jet, the sound from the jungle in Haiti came over the flat screen’s speakers. It was one of those iconic sounds where the birds were chirping and the insects we buzzing and it gave Kara the impression of only one thing. Hot. It was the sound of a hot, thick, jungle. The men’s dark skin glistened in the heat. They were all very thin and they looked desperate. Kara felt sorry for them.
“What should I say,” Kara whispered to Hail.