Hail Warning

Two Years Ago Caribbean Sea — Aboard the Nigerian Princess

The following forty-eight hours aboard the Nigerian Princess passed without any further searches of the vessel. Both Afua and Isaac had watched the same Venezuelan Coast Guard ship that had previously boarded them pass several times within a quarter-mile of them. But it never made any turns in their direction. At this point, if it did turn toward their way, Afua would opt to leave the third hull segment attached to the little boat because they were out of time.

Every plane that left the runways of the Simón Bolívar International Airport initially flew east over the port of Puerto de La Guairá. The port was a busy place, and it had taken Afua a long time to decide on the best place to fire the missile. On the map, he noted a thin jetty that poked out like a thin finger into the middle of the port. That strip of land created a seawall that protected the port. Looking at it from Google Earth, there appeared to be only one road that led to the jetty, and there were no buildings or anything else on it. The solitary dirt road had been worn down the middle of the seawall, and it appeared to be closed to the public. The port had its own set of roads inside a large fenced-in area, and this jetty appeared to be part of that infrastructure. Afua assumed fishermen may have trespassed on that spit of land. He decided fishing from the jetty would make for a good cover. If the jetty was restricted and patrolled, he could expect a visit from port officials, but Afua did not plan on being there for long.

He would pull his little boat up along the shoreline, pull the plug on the dead man’s switch and retrieve the case. He felt it was critical to fire the missile from dry land. He couldn’t risk a wave or the recoil from the weapon to cause him to lose his balance which could make his shot to be less than perfect. He only had one shot so having solid ground under his feet only made sense. Afua considered the possibility of someone seeing him preparing to fire the large missile and try to intercede. But that’s what his Glock was for. If they got too close, his Glock would deter further encroachment. After he fired the missile, he would throw the launcher into the sea and hop back into his boat and make his way back to the yacht anchored five kilometers away.

Afua had it all planned out. Isaac worked the winch to lower Afua and his small boat into the water. For the first time, Afua thought he had a real chance of pulling this off.

When he had first met the tall Russian and the mission had been explained to him, Afua had thought the plan was pure lunacy. His boat touched down into the gentle surf of the Caribbean Sea, and the sun’s rays warmed his black skin. Afua began to think that this nasty job was as good as done.

The cables were disconnected from his small boat with a few clicks of the carabiners that linked them to his boat’s cleats. Afua turned the ignition key and the boat’s small outboard engine puttered to life. Isaac waved to Afua, and Afua returned the gesture. He oriented himself with the shoreline and pressed the throttle forward. The bow of his boat came up. A few seconds later, his boat planed out, and the front came back down as his vessel picked up speed.

The water in the Caribbean was a beautiful blue. Green had always been Afua’s favorite color, but as his boat skidded across the azure blue ocean, he thought blue might be his second favorite color. This blue expanse around filled him with a sense of independence he had never known. Going back to his childhood, Afua had never experienced this strange sensation of autonomy. He certainly hadn’t felt free when he had worked in the cassava fields, where he had been found and indoctrinated into the Boko Haram. But this blue stretch of water made him feel as though the world was boundless. With a single flip of his wrist, he could turn the wheel on this boat, and head off in any direction he chose. Afua had worked like a dog for every little thing he had received. But now he was alone, and there wasn’t anyone telling him what to do, and those who were dependent on him were thousands of miles away. Afua felt guilty at the thought of finding a quiet beach to vanish. He was Afua Diambu of Nigeria, but by the time his boat reached the nearest sandy cove, he could be anyone else, and he could forget his past. That thought was a fleeting one.

Freedom from his commitments passed through his mind like a virtual bullet, and then the moist Caribbean wind had blown it away. He had never been this far away from home, from those he worked for, from those who depended on him or from the atrocities he had committed over the years. Thus, the feeling of freedom was a fleeting one. He was now approaching the Venezuelan shoreline, and his current life and its dastardly deeds came crashing back down on him like an immense psychological nuclear bomb. Afua composed himself and became the Afua the Boko Haram had created — a cold, calculating and deadly man.

The jetty came into view, and Afua pointed his boat toward the outer tip of the breakwater. As he got closer to the wall of rock which had been raggedly dumped into the sea, the waves became choppy and the ride became bumpy. Afua pulled back on the throttle and began to survey the land ahead. So far, he didn’t see any people fishing from the rocks or working on the road that ran the entire length of the narrow jetty. A little farther down, where it became wider, there was

an odd assortment of shipping containers that had either been stored or abandoned. Most of them looked to be rusty, oxidized iron boxes that had decayed over time due to salt and spray. The surf pounded against the seawall, as if insisting on being let in. There were no signs of life on the outside of the jetty, but Afua decided that pulling up on the outside of the breakwater would simply be too rough. He assumed that his boat would be smashed against the rocks and turned into Plexiglas crumbles in a matter of minutes. Keeping one hand on the throttle, Afua used his other hand to turn the wheel clockwise, as he guided his boat to the right. Now, the launch was pointing towards the heart of the harbor. Afua eased the throttle forward, and the boat lurched and surged forward. Keeping his eyes on the end of the jetty, Afua was pleased to discover that the jetty’s inner harbor was also unoccupied. There was no movement on the road or the rocks below. He hadn’t spotted any boats, fishing poles, scuba divers or workmen. In fact; there wasn’t even a bird in sight.

The waves on this protected side of the jetty were small ripples that lapped at the large jagged rocks on the shoreline. Reducing his boat’s speed to a slow idle, Afua steered toward an area that looked to have at least a small measure of sand, an area where he could disembark. A minute later, the bow of his boat rolled up onto the shoreline, and the tip of the bow touched one of the rocks. Holding a line that was tied to a cleat on the front of the boat, Afua jumped out and pulled the line taut. He then climbed atop the rock pile leading to the road above. He found a smaller rock to tie off his boat. Satisfied the boat was secure, he began to climb, scrambling from rock to rock until he crested the top of the incline.

At first, Afua was careful not to expose himself until he was certain that the jetty was uninhabited. He stuck his head up over the top of the man-made plateau and looked left toward the tip of the jetty; there was no one within sight. He then looked right, toward the area that widened before making its way toward the main docks. There was no one in that direction either. If Afua believed in destiny, then he would have thought that this was a good omen. But God, destiny and all of that meant very little to him. He believed in the here and now. The rest was just stuff that people made up to give them strength to do what had to be done. Even though he believed in Jesus, he was certain that there would be little help from the son of God on this mission. If anything, Jesus would be appalled at what Afua (Jesus) was about to do.

Confident he was alone, Afua carefully made his way back down the jumble of rocks to his boat. Checking the time, he realized he was running about forty-five minutes early. He would not release the third hull from his boat until ten minutes before it was needed. Since there were no people on the jetty, he could assume it may be restricted in some manner, and that could mean that it was patrolled, either by vehicles up top or by boats patrolling the harbor.

Instead of breaking out the missile, Afua took out a fishing pole. As part of his mission prep, he had already tied a brightly colored chrome and orange spinner to the end of the line. He went to the back of the boat and sat down in the seat that faced the dock. With a flip of his wrist, he cast the line out into the deep water. He allowed the spinner time to sink. Afua then began to slowly reel it in, hoping he didn’t catch anything. He was focused on what needed to be done, and being distracted by a fish was not part of his agenda. A little nervous, he checked his watch again. After confirming only two minutes had transpired, he checked the water and then glanced behind to check that the rocks and road were still clear. So far so good. The spinner emerged from the water, and Afua reeled it in until it wiggled and danced on the end of the pole. Afua cast out the glittering lure again and waited.