Hail Warning

Two Years Ago Lagos, Nigeria

The ancient garage doors opened from the outside. The hinges squeaked and the wood made crackling sounds. Afua Diambu thought for sure the doors were going to let go of the rusty screws holding them to the battered hinges and fall to the floor. But surprisingly, they held. The nighttime sounds of the city entered the dank wooden room, including faint music from an outdoor nightclub a few blocks away. Afua heard a parrot’s ear-splitting shriek that could be heard a mile away. But this bird was closer. It was most likely a pet left in a garage or on a back porch. Diambu also heard the omnipresent sounds of traffic in Lagos. The cars and motorbikes clogged the streets and filled the air with a thick, gray haze. Twenty-one million people competed for jobs, parking spaces and places to stand in the cramped megacity of Nigeria. Victor Kornev opened the large wooden slatted doors.

Afua was surprised to see the backside of a small boat parked outside. The small watercraft was sitting on a boat trailer. Only one of the two trailer’s taillights burned red, indicating the trailer was currently connected to a vehicle.

Kornev put his fingers to his mouth and whistled a quick sharp blast that hurt Afua’s ears.

A ragged engine gunned once, and the boat began backing into the small warehouse. The two Boko Haram soldiers guarding the surface-to-air missile inside the building lifted their AK-47s to a ready position. They closely monitored the situation, not really expecting any activity requiring shooting streams of jacketed bullets. But, most of the time, when operations went south, it was unexpected. The entire boat fit inside the doublewide garage, but only half of the dilapidated Peugeot 403 that was towing it was hidden from view. The other half of the vehicle hung out into the narrow alley.

The big Russian banged on the back of the Peugeot and it came to a stop. Without bothering to use the tow crank, Kornev flipped up the tow latch. He unclipped the safety chains, unplugged the trailer lights, and lifted the trailer from the ball supporting it. Gently, he set the tongue of the trailer onto the concrete floor. He banged a second time on the Peugeot, and the car emitted a puff of black smoke, easing forward. Kornev waved the smoke from his face. Afua knew the arms dealer wanted to get the doors closed for secrecy, but they also wanted to be able to inhale fresh air. Once the Peugeot was out of sight, Kornev began swinging

one of the garage doors back-and-forth like a large fan to clear out the noxious fumes. One of the guards began doing the same with the other door with such vigor Afua was afraid the old door might pop off its hinges. Kornev must have thought the same thing. He called out to the guard, “Easy on that thing.”

Afua watched the two men fan the room. Once the Russian was satisfied with the air quality, he closed his door. The guard followed his lead. The guard placed the heavy iron bar back across the doors, securing them.

The boat looked very small to Afua. He knew he would be traveling across an entire ocean on a boat. He prayed to Jesus this was not the vessel in which he would be making his voyage. Although it looked like a short fishing boat, it was more of a small pleasure craft. It resembled one of the boats white tourists used when traveling from their large pleasure yachts anchored in deep water to the beach.

It had two deep hulls on each side with a much smaller center hull. It was very common in all respects, with the exception that it lacked any type of writing indicating which company had made it. Afua had been around many boats, and almost all of them had some sort of manufacturer’s name inscribed on the hull. It did have a small canopy that had been folded back and locked down for its trip on the trailer. Afua noticed it had enough seats for six people. There was an open area between the split windshields that allowed access to the couch seats built into its narrow bow.

The Russian tugged lightly on the garage doors to verify they were secure. He walked purposefully toward the back of the boat where Afua was standing. He kept ducking down to look underneath the boat. Kornev arrived at the back of the boat and checked down on his hands and knees to take a better look. The Russian motioned for Afua to look under the boat as well at something he was pointing at.

“See that?” Victor Kornev asked in English.

Afua dropped down on his hands and knees alongside the Russian and followed his finger. Other than the middle hull, Afua didn’t see anything.

“No,” Afua said.

“Right there. Look close,” Kornev ordered.

Afua looked there again, still seeing nothing.

“I still don’t see anything.”

“Good,” Kornev told him, getting back to his feet. The Russian reached over and pulled loose an aluminum ladder that was folded and hinged to the back of the boat. Passengers could use this ladder to get in and out of the boat when it was in the water. It worked equally as well to climb into the boat when it was on a trailer.

Kornev climbed the ladder’s rungs, stepped into the boat, and he halted at the steering wheel and driver’s seat. Afua joined him. Kornev pointed down at the controls, his finger centering on the dead man’s switch. A measure of cord was secured to a pin that was stuck into a hole in the dashboard. Typically, a dead man’s switch was worn by the driver of the boat. Its springy cord would be attached via Velcro around the driver’s wrist. If, for some reason, the driver was thrown from the boat, the pin would be pulled from its electrical connection, and the engine would be shut off. It was a safety measure to ensure the boat didn’t continue without its driver.

“You might think you know what that cord is for, but it isn’t what you think it is.”

Afua didn’t have a clue what the cord was used for, so he simply nodded his head in agreement. The arms dealer continued.

“If you pull this cord, the hull in the middle of the boat will fall out.”

Kornev grabbed onto the cord and gave it a light tug. The pin zinged out of the hole, and they heard a loud metallic clang from underneath the boat. Kornev went to the back of the boat and climbed back out. Afua followed.

The big blond man shimmied under the boat a few feet, until he could grab the tail end of the middle hull that was now resting on the concrete floor. After a grunt or two, Kornev slid back out and got back to his knees. Cradling the hull section in his arms, he handed it to Afua who was standing next to him. Once Kornev made it back to his feet, he took the hull section from Afua and carried it over to a wooden table. The table was about eight feet long. The hull stuck out over one end of the table an additional foot.

The Russian took out a pocket knife, and he pulled out a blade that was a screwdriver. Making sure he had Afua’s undivided attention, he used the screwdriver to remove an access plate. The plate had at least a dozen screws and ran almost the entire length of the V-shaped aluminum section. Afua heard a sucking sound when Kornev used his screwdriver to pry the plate out of its airtight seal.

“Now, there are several things I must show you about this device,” Kornev said. “First, this is the case that will hold both the missile and the missile launcher.” The case had come from a bass player, who upon selling the bass on the streets, no longer had any need for the instrument’s case. Kornev repurposed it for this mission.

The bass case was sitting on a wooden table adjacent to the one they were working on. Kornev stepped over to the table where he opened and removed the missile launch tube. Very carefully, he removed the missile from its hiding place in the bass case and walked to the table where the launcher was waiting. Slowly and cautiously, Kornev slid the missile into the front end of the launcher. He lifted the nose of the launcher and allowed gravity to do its thing. Afua and Kornev heard a

light chink as it found its home. The Russian held the fully loaded missile system in front of Afua.

“Did you see how I did that? The missile goes into the front of the launch tube,” Kornev said, pointing at the muzzle of the launcher. “Then the entire launcher, with the missile inside, gets hidden in the hull section.”

Kornev demonstrated, placing the large weapon into a foam cutout that was carved inside the hull section. He pressed the weapon system into the foam rubber; it fit perfectly. It had taken Kornev less than twenty seconds to stash the entire missile launcher into the aluminum hull section.

“I want you to try,” Kornev told Afua, pulling the launcher back out. Kornev located a missile release button, tilted the nose of the launcher down, and caught the projectile as it slid back out the front of the tube. He then set the two pieces on the table and moved out of the way.

Copying the arms dealer, move for move, Afua slowly slid the missile into the launcher. He pointed the nose of the launcher toward the ceiling and heard the metallic clank. He then carefully placed the launcher into the hull section.

“Good,” the Russian said. “Now look at this,” he said, pointing to a metal cap on the hull section. The cap was connected to a metal tank that ran down the inside of the hull section. “Water goes in here,” Kornev explained.

Kornev walked over to the wall and grabbed a black hose jumbled loosely on the floor. He bent the end of the hose so it was pinched closed before turning on the spigot. The hose came to life like a snake that had been electrocuted, flopping and wriggling on the floor. Kornev released the kink in the hose to allow the pent-up pressure which sprayed the wall. He placed the end of the hose inside the mouth of the tank and watched as it filled with water.

“See these?” Kornev said, pointing at three black boxes mounted inside the hull section next to the tank. “Those are the batteries. You do not want to get those wet, so be careful when you fill this up. Hopefully, you won’t have to mess around with any of this. But if you do, then you need to know how to set it all back up.”

As soon as the tank was full, Kornev quickly yanked the hose away from the opening. He dropped the hose, letting the water splash onto the floor. He asked one of the guards to turn off the water. He picked up the metal cap and screwed it back on the hull’s water tank.

“The batteries have enough charge to blow the ballast tank at least three or four times, so you shouldn’t have to worry about charging them. Each time you blow the ballast, you have to refill this tank.”

Afua shook his head. “Ballast tank?” he asked.

“Yeah, you see—” Kornev stopped talking, realizing that the Boko Haram jihadi was a dumbass. He didn’t understand a damn thing he was talking about. If the terrorist didn’t understand what the middle of the hull of the boat was for, he sure as hell didn’t know how it worked, or what he was supposed to do with it.

“OK, let’s start from the top,” Kornev said, anticipating a very long night.