Hail Warning

Rond Point Port — Aboard the Hail Proton

The sun was coming up when Hail entered Hail Proton’s command center. Captain Mitch Nichols was already sitting in the big chair on the top tier. As Hail made his way up to the captain, he looked around and noticed all sixteen command stations were being manned by young men and women. Most of the big screens above the stations were lit up with video being streamed from several drones that were on station near Snake Island. There was a steady hum of animated chatter as the pilots talked amongst themselves. Everyone in the room appeared to be stoked, and the feeling was contagious. It infused Hail with excitement, as if he had been plugged into a human battery charger.

Captain Nichols began to get up from the big chair, but Hail put up his hand and told him, “No. That’s OK, Mitch. I feel like standing.” Nichols eased back into the chair and then checked the monitors mounted to his chair’s armrests.

“Status?” Hail asked the captain.

Nichols took a moment to compose his response and then informed Hail: “Foreigner made a return run and dropped off Seagulls, which was refueled. One medium-class drone, code named Foo Fighters, also made the trip and is now stationary on the outskirts of the compound. It was set down in a clump of bushes and can’t been seen from the Diambu property or the beach. The drone was put to sleep to preserve batteries, and its solar array has been deployed to charge it. We have Foo Fighters on station just in case we need it. Foghat returned from Snake Island, refueled, and back on the rack in case it is required.”

“Good thinking,” Hail commented.

The captain continued, “Foreigner was set down on an abandoned strip of road in Isunba, just north of Snake Island. We didn’t park it underwater on the off-chance we need to get it airborne in a hurry. Foreigner is heavily armed, again, just in case we need the firepower.”

“Another great idea,” Hail said.

“Seagulls has been airborne for the last hour. Now that the sun is coming up, we are getting a clear video feed from its onboard cameras.”

Nichols pointed up at one of the monitors showing a video stream sent from the birdlike drone. Seagulls appeared to be flying over the water about 100 yards off the beach. An HD image of the beach and the path leading up to the compound was visible.

Hail noticed that several of the other large monitors above the control stations mirrored the same feed.

Captain Nichols continued with the status update. “And then, of course, we have Turtles in the same spot where we parked it yesterday. We are getting ready to wake up that drone. It has about 50 % battery power reserves left, and communications with the drone is five by five.”

“Very good,” Hail said. “Has there been any activity up at the compound?”

“No activity, per se, but we did a close flyby with Seagulls a few minutes ago, and we spotted Kara sleeping in a hammock on the third level of the wooden deck.”

“Hmm,” Hail grunted. He hoped the reason she was sleeping outside was because she had chosen not to sleep in the same bed with Kornev. He understood that the pang of jealousy he experienced was childish, but he couldn’t shake it.

The captain did a quick review in his mind of all the moving parts of the mission. Satisfied that he had covered everything, he said, “I think that’s about it unless you can think of anything I missed, Marshall.”

Hail shook his head and said, “I think you have covered all the bases. I sent Nolan back to the airport in Lagos with the Gulfstream just in case Kara decides she wants to call it quits or needs to get out fast.”

“That makes sense,” Nichols responded.

Several of the young pilots, who were sitting behind their control stations, were looking over at Marshall Hail. All of them had met the man, but it had been a long time since they had seen him. This was the first time Hail had been on the Hail Proton while the command center was fully manned.

Nichols noticed his pilots gazing at Hail.

“Why don’t we go over and greet your crew. They haven’t seen you in quite some time.”

Hail smiled. “I would like that.”

Nichols got out of his chair, and the two men walked down two tiers and stopped at the closest command station.

“You remember Jason Wilson?” Nichols said, by way of an introduction.

“I sure do,” Hail said reaching out and offering his hand to the young man. “How are you adjusting to your new surroundings, Jason?”

The young kid looked up at Marshall with a big smile, shook his hand and replied, “Hi, Marshall. They’re not all that new anymore. I’ve been aboard the Hail Proton for over a year. But, I love it. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”

“How’s your school work going? Are you getting good grades?”

“Mostly, but I have to admit that I’m not doing all that well in English. For some reason identifying all the different parts of a sentence doesn’t compute. But I’ll get it down. It’s just a matter of time, oh, and grueling study.”

Hail smiled and asked, “From your last sentence, can you identify what part of speech the word ‘oh’ is?”

Wilson looked perplexed for a moment and said, “I think ‘oh’ is an interjection.”

Wilson looked to Hail for confirmation, and Hail just shrugged and laughed, “Don’t look at me. I have no idea. Now, if it was a physics question, I’m your man.”

Wilson laughed.

Hail said, “Well, it’s good to see you thriving, young man. Keep up the good work.”

Hail patted Wilson on the shoulder.

“Thanks again for everything, Marshall,” the pilot said.

“I am very happy that you are part of our family, Jason. If you need anything or need someone to talk to, that is if Mitch is busy, you give me a call, OK?”

“Sounds good,” Wilson said.

Marshall left Wilson’s station and walked up to the next pilot, another familiar face that was already smiling at him, Sarah Starling.

One-by-one, and pilot-by-pilot, Hail and Nichols made their way around the perimeter of the room. It had been years since Hail had seen these young people. In some cases, he was shocked by how much some of the boys had grown, and in the same manner, he was stunned by how many of the young girls had turned into young women.

As Nichols and Hail were walking back up towards the captain’s chair, Hail said, “I really need to visit more. These kids are turning into young adults, and I’m missing it all.”

“That would be nice,” Nichols agreed.

“We’ve got some movement at the Diambu compound,” Wilson reported. “Someone is coming down the stairs to the sand below.”

Hail looked up to see the video Seagulls was streaming. It was a long and wide angle showing two figures descending the stairs that led from the third level of the deck.

“Activate Turtles and get the drone’s camera on them,” Nichols ordered.

Sarah Starling said, “Roger that,” and she pressed an icon on her screen.

Three large monitors in different parts of the room flickered and then lit up with the video being shot from the eyes of Turtles. The initial image showed nothing but sand and brush. As Starling swung Turtles’ head in the direction of the compound, the camera autofocused on the structure, and it locked in the video frame.

From the drone’s position in the sand, it was hard to make out who was coming down the stairs.

“Can you zoom in on the stairs?” Hail requested.

Starling panned to the right. She zoomed the camera in to obtain a tight shot of the stairs using the thumbwheel on her right joystick.

Kara and Afua Diambu could clearly be seen in the frame. Starling continued to track them with the camera until they reached the bottom of the stairs. At that point, two armed guards came into view. They had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs. There was a verbal exchange between Diambu and the guards. One began walking down the path toward the beach. The other guard remained behind to continue guarding the base of the stairs. Kara and Diambu fell in line behind the mobile guard. They walked single file down the narrow sandy path that led toward the beach. The guard was in the lead and continually swiveled his head from left to right searching for threats. He waved the tip of his AK-47 in unison with his head. Diambu was walking about fifteen yards behind the guard, with Kara closely behind the Nigerian.

From Hail’s perspective, she was walking way too close to Diambu.

The group had walked halfway down the path, when Hail said, “What the hell is she doing?”

Nichols was just as baffled, but he said nothing.

“Turtles is armed,” Starling announced.

“Scrub it. Secure Turtles,” Hail told Starling. “Hopefully, Kara can put some distance between herself and Diambu so we can get to him on his return to the house.”

As the trio passed the turtle, Kara began making a slashing motion under her neck with her index finger. She stared directly at the drone as she passed and

repeated the same slashing signal. Since she was walking behind both Diambu and the guard, her action went unnoticed.

“What is she trying to tell us?” Nichols asked Hail.

“She’s telling us to call it off for some reason,” he said.

“And why would she be doing that?” the captain questioned.

“I don’t have a clue,” Hail said.

Starling pivoted Turtles’ head to the right, continuing to track the group as they left the path and walked onto the beach.

“Were we recording all that?” Hail asked.

“We record everything the drones see,” the captain replied.

“We’re missing something.” Hail told Nichols, rubbing his face with his big hands.

“Maybe Kara is wired with some sort of explosive,” Nichols suggested.

Hail continued to rub his face, as if adding more pressure to his head would help him think with more clarity.

Hail let his hands fall to his waist and said, “We need to play back the video as they passed Turtles to see if we can spot something significant she was trying to tell us.”

Nichols told Starling, “Sarah, please pull up the video we just recorded as they walked by Turtles’ camera. Put it up on screen six.”

“Will do,” Starling said.

The video began replaying the requested segment. The instant the group had passed within three feet, the drone automatically switched to a fisheye lens. Even though the people passing in front of the lens were grossly distorted, like they were standing in front of a bent funhouse mirror, the camera had recorded their entire bodies from their feet to the top of their heads.

“Freeze it right there,” Hail said. It was frozen at the point Kara began slashing at her neck.

Kara was wearing a T-shirt and shorts without shoes.

Hail and Nichols studied the image, looking closely at Kara. Hail examined her clothes for telltale bulges, incongruent with Kara’s curves, but consistent with explosives strapped to her body.

“I don’t see anything,” Nichols finally said.

“I don’t either,” Hail agreed. “And if I had a bomb under my shirt, I sure the hell would have lifted my shirt up to make sure the camera got a good look at it as I passed by.”

“I would have as well,” Nichols agreed.

“So, she is not wired to an explosive,” Hail said with some relief.

“Then something must have changed,” Nichols suggested.

“Yeah, but what?” Hail said, almost to himself. “Rewind it again, but this time run it forward in slow motion. We have to be missing something.”

Using the right monitor mounted to his captain’s chair, Nichols took control of the video and pressed the double back arrow icon. The video played backwards until the group was about twenty feet from the drone. The captain pressed the single forward arrow icon, and the video began playing one frame at a time. In a jerky fashion, the guard passed the camera. Hail couldn’t see anything on the man that would cause Kara to scrub the mission. Then Afua Diambu walked by the camera. He was wearing swim trunks with no shirt. A towel was draped over his right shoulder. He didn’t appear to have any weapons of any type on his person. Then Kara walked by, repeating the vexing slashing signal. One frame at a time, Hail and Nichols studied the video.

Nothing.

“Let’s watch it again,” Hail ordered.

Nichols looked frustrated, but he did as Hail wished.

The guard walked by again, and then Afua Diambu walked by, and then— “Wait!” Hail said. “Freeze it right there.”

Nichols did as Hail instructed, and the video came to a stop with Afua Diambu centered in the frame. His long muscular legs led up to his brightly colored swim trucks, and then up farther to the towel, and finally, the top of the frame focused on the man’s head.

“Do you see something?” Nichols asked.

“I don’t see something, and I think I know why Kara was signaling us.”

“What do you mean?” the captain asked.

“The bio on Diambu the CIA provided us reported that Afua Diambu suffered an injury during his taking down of United 1045. He was treated at a hospital in Porlamar, Venezuela for a severe leg wound. He should have a nasty scar on his right ankle. But right there,” Hail said, drawing a circle on the video screen with his finger, “on his right ankle — this guy has nothing. Not even a hint of a scar. This guy isn’t Afua Diambu. He’s a double. That’s why Kara signaled for us to scrub the mission.”

“Damn,” Nichols said. “After all this work. All this prep and it’s been a double that has been swimming every morning. And God only knows how long this has been going on.”

Hail shook his head and tried to decide how best to proceed.

Seagulls had flown in closer to the group on the beach. The guard was now standing about thirty feet behind Kara and the Diambu double dropped his towel on the sand. He was walking into the gentle waves. Kara was sitting in the sand and appeared to be picking up shells and inspecting them. She noticed Seagulls flying directly in front of her and made another slashing signal with her finger across her neck.

“Yeah, we understand you, Kara,” Hail said to himself. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”