Operation Hail Storm

Sea of Japan ― on the cargo ship Hail Nucleus

Hail heard a knock on his stateroom door. Either that or he was dreaming that he heard the sound. Drifting back to sleep, the annoying sound resurfaced. He rolled his face out of his pillow and toward the clock on his nightstand.

12:05

What did that mean? Was it 12:05 at night or was it 12:05 in the day? He started to close his eyes again and louder now, three hard bangs on his door.

“Coming,” Hail said.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed. He assumed it was Renner so he didn’t bother pulling on a robe. He stood up, tugged his underwear down into their proper location and walked over and answered the door.

Through his blurry old eyes, he saw beauty.

Kara Ramey was standing there making a T symbol with her fingers. Her index finger on her right hand was pointing up, and her index finger on her left hand was pointing sideways, crossing the other finger.

“Truce,” she said with a smile.

Hail was still trying to figure out what time it was.

“Nice whitey tighties,” Kara said, looking down at his white underwear.

Hail looked down his bare chest and followed Kara’s eyes down to his underwear.

He quickly closed the door a few inches and stood behind it, two parts embarrassed to one part still sleepy.

“What do you want?” His words came out more drowsy than pissy.

“Well sleepyhead, if you had been looking at your phone, then you should have received an email from Pepper with the aerials that you requested.”

“Ummm,” was Hail’s response.

“Can I come in?” Kara asked.

“No,” Hail said with the same tone as if she had asked to shave his back.

“Believe it or not, Marshall, I’ve seen guys in their underwear before. They look just like white speedos. What’s the big deal?”

Hail held his ground and asked, “Why are you here again?”

“Two reasons. The first is to ask you out for breakfast or lunch or whatever you want to call it. The second is that Gage organized a meeting at one o’clock to discuss the new photos. He told me to come get you up.”

“Ummm,” Hail grunted again.

“Can I come in?” Kara tried again.

This time Hail shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s your funeral.”

He stepped back from the door and turned and began walking toward his bedroom.

Kara pushed the door open the rest of the way. Before Hail had disappeared into his room, Kara commented, “Nice ass!”

Hail ignored her.

“I would ask you to make yourself at home, but I don’t think you have any issues with that,” Hail called out.

“That’s OK,” Kara called back. “I have plenty of other issues to compensate.”

Kara plopped down on the couch, somewhat disappointed that there was so little to look at in Hail’s stateroom. She scanned the walls and surfaces for something of interest. Nothing. Hardly a single item that would differentiate his room from that of an average hotel. Then she looked to her right and there on the end table, next to the couch, was a single framed 4 by 5 color photograph of Marshall Hail and his family.

Kara was actually taken aback by how young and happy Marshall Hail looked in the photograph. The family was all dressed in heavy jackets, colorful puffy coats of down and nylon. Marshall had a pair of ski goggles strapped to his forehead. His wife was pretty and blond and petite and she looked timid. Her smile was fabricated. The manifestation of worry under the smile was genuine. Hail’s wife looked like she had something on her mind. Hail’s daughters were also blond and precious. His daughter’s smiles were real, not like the fake ones that Kara used in all the photos she had taken with her own parents. Hail and his girls were kneeling in the deep snow with a giant snow-covered mountain in the background. Hail had a jacketed arm wrapped around each of his girls and his wife was propped on his right shoulder. His wife ― what was her name? Madalyn, Kara thought, looked uncomfortable. Kara wondered what Madalyn was thinking about that made her appear antsy. Maybe it was the first time her girls had skied and she was afraid they might get hurt. Maybe Madalyn was afraid that her husband would get hurt. But Kara sensed there was more.

She reached over and picked up the photo and held it in her lap. She stared intently at Hail and wondered why he looked so different. Sure, he was a few years younger, but there was a fire in his eyes that Kara had never seen in him. A fire for life. I fire for being a father. And there was something deeper down under those blue eyes of his. Trapped behind that stare was the essence of what made Hail tick ― the crux of what she felt Hail was all about. If she had to put it into a single word, then warmth would be the one she would choose. Hail had more than a fatherly look to him, he had a humanitarian look as if he would let the entire world stay at his home if it would make a difference. And as for his wife Madalyn, she had the exact opposite look. She would not only refuse to let anyone stay at their home, but if they did, Kara thought Hail’s wife might hide under the bed.

Kara set the photo back on the end table and felt guilty judging a woman that had passed away. But not horribly guilty. Kara would get over it. But Marshall Hail, on the other hand, was still very much alive and Kara would continue to judge the shit out of him until she was sure she knew what made him tick. Whatever it was, things were different now. Back then, Hail was all about family. Now, Hail was all about killing. Damn, how far down the hill had he slid? But the real question that needed answering ― was he still sliding?

Hail walked out of his bedroom wearing a green polo shirt and brown cotton chino shorts. It was the typical outfit that she had come to expect from Hail. As Hail mentioned, the Nucleus was not a military ship. It wasn’t really a corporate vessel either, and therefore his crew could be dressed in just about any type of clothing that could be purchased from the ship’s mall.

“Where do you want to eat?” Kara asked, rising from the couch.

“I don’t know,” Hail said, finding his sandals next to the coffee table and stabbing his feet into them.

“How about something breakfasty?” Hail suggested.

Having successfully attached footwear to his feet, Hail looked up at Kara, who was now standing next to the door.

She was wearing tight jeans and a white scoop neck blouse. Her red hair was done up in a neat ponytail, but she had left her bangs loose. She was wearing just a hint of makeup, but Hail felt that she really didn’t need it. It was like touching up the famous painting by Marcel Dyf called Claudine a l'Estampe. Matter a fact, Kara Ramey looked remarkably similar to the woman in the French seventeenth century painting, ponytail and all.

“They serve a good breakfast in the American restaurant,” Kara said.

Hail walked toward the door and Kara opened it and walked into the hallway, holding it open for Hail.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way toward the restaurant.

The breakfast bar was still open and a half-dozen tables were occupied. Marshall and Kara helped themselves to an assortment of breakfast items and then found a table with a degree of separation from the others.

Before Kara began eating she said, “I wanted to apologize if I… if I… agitated you yesterday.” She chose the word agitated carefully, as it didn’t imply that she was either wrong, responsible or out of line in any manner. It was up to Hail how he chose to perceive her words, which would be negatively or possibly constructively.

Hail looked away and stuck a fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Kara took a sip of her apple juice and waited for Hail to respond. When he didn’t, she told him, “I think the main bone of contention we have right now is Kornev. If you can tell me any other issues we have, and I’m assuming you can’t, then we just need to come to an understanding about Kornev and we should be good. Right?”

Hail said nothing. He took a bite of bacon and looked at her passively.

“So this is my suggestion,” She said. “For now, you shelve your thoughts of whacking Kornev during this mission and give me time to see if I can get the information I need out of him. If you do that, then I promise I will deliver Kornev to you, all tied up in a pretty ribbon and then you can do whatever you want to do with him.”

Kara looked expectantly at Hail.

“Deal?” she asked, offering out her hand.

Hail reached out his hand, but instead of grasping Kara’s, at the last second he moved it to the right and picked up his glass of orange juice.

He took a sip and smiled at her. It was the first expression, other than somnolence that she had seen on his face all morning.

“Now you’re smiling?” Kara said, reeling back in her hand. She wanted to call him an asshole, but held her tongue.

She said, “I don’t think you get it, Marshall. This means a lot to me. Believe it or not, I’m not colored red, white and blue. I do not work for the CIA because I love my country or I want to make a difference or any of that bullshit. I’m doing what I do in order to find out who killed my parents and Kornev is the only link I have to that information. Do you understand?”

Hail finally spoke.

“I understand, but do you realize how crazy that sounds?”

“Oh,” Kara huffed, “And a billionaire making it his life mission to exterminate everyone on the FBI’s terrorist list isn’t crazy?”

Hail considered her counter and said “Well, maybe you have a point.”

“Marshall, let’s face it. We’re both fucked up individuals. I’ve got a demented program in my brain that just keeps running and so do you. There are plenty of other assholes in the world you can kill, so all I am asking is that you refrain from killing my special asshole and I promise I will help you kill more of yours.”

Kara held out her hand again and this time Hail shook it.

“Great, now that we have that out of the way, we have about ten minutes to finish eating before Gage’s mission planning meeting starts,” Kara said.

Hail responded by sticking a piece of toast into his mouth.