Hail Warning

Two Years Ago Caribbean Sea — Porlamar, Venezuela

It was another beautiful day in the Caribbean, in the low 80s with lots of humidity but there was a pleasant breeze coming from the north. Isaac Obano could see thunderheads off in the distance, but they were of little concern to him. Afternoon thunderstorms were common, and the yacht’s Doppler radar screen showed no substantial severe weather within hundreds of miles of their current location.

It had taken the Obanos two full days to navigate the yacht from Trinidad back to Porlamar. Isaac could have gotten there faster, but he wasn’t going to kill himself or lose sleep picking up the jihadi. As it was, he had already lost enough sleep due to the man’s actions. Picking up the terrorist still was akin to a flip toss. One side of the coin represented a substantial pay off in business, money and lifestyle upgrades. The other side of the coin was death. Not really a 50/50 outcome, if one placed a higher value on their life than their lifestyle. But Obano also ran the risk of losing his life if he didn’t return to Nigeria with Diambu. He didn’t know how upset the Boko Haram leaders would be, or what actions they would take, if he arrived without Diambu. Would they blame Isaac? There was no way to tell. The men of the Boko Haram were far from reasonable people. Everything they did, and every action they took, was done to either impress, intimidate or to enslave someone. Still, leaving the beauty and solitude of Trinidad to return to the dog-eat-dog country of Nigeria was depressing. In the back of Obano’s mind, he was formulating a plan to make a great deal of money in a very short amount of time. After that, he and his wife would leave Nigeria and go back to Trinidad, but this time, they would make it their new home. Nigerians didn’t know the meaning of the words voluntary retirement, and it was time for the Obanos to leave the country.

Obano had called Afua informing him of their time of arrival. Like clockwork, Afua was waiting at the predetermined dock for the yacht to arrive. The tall jihadi struggled to stand as the Nigerian Princess moored next to him. Once on his feet, Afua placed a pair of wooden crutches under his armpits. He allowed his leg to dangle a few inches above the ground, swinging his body between the crutches, swoop by swoop, making his way towards the yacht.

Giving a little wave to Afua, Obano swung the gangway into place. Working the controls of the winch, he lowered the stairs to the level of the dock. With both hands busy working his crutches, Afua did not return the wave. He looked like

he couldn’t wait to get back aboard the Nigerian Princess. The tall Nigerian made a beeline toward the stairs and step-by-step, he climbed onto the yacht.

“How are you doing, my friend?” Obano greeted Afua.

Afua responded gruffly, “Let’s get going.”

Obano immediately sensed that something was different. Before, Afua seemed to be somewhat easygoing. Well, as easygoing as a terrorist can be. As Afua immediately descended to the lower decks of the yacht, Obano sensed the man was troubled. Maybe his life-threatening leg injury had brought the fear of God into focus. But Obano knew that Afua didn’t fear God, any God. He also didn’t think Afua feared any man. So that just left the fear of death, which was more substantial than the fear of either God or man.

“We are leaving,” Obano yelled down at the dock worker, who was still in the process of tying up the Nigerian Princess to the large dock cleats. The man below looked confused, but he understood. He immediately began undoing all the things he had done. Pressing the UP button on the gangway winch, the stairs began to rise and retracted into the yacht.

Obano was troubled by Afua’s change in character. He hoped the man wasn’t wrestling with a moral issue like killing Isaac and his wife. He wasn’t going to be sleeping very well on their return trip.