Rond Point Port — Aboard the Hail Proton
Using the drone, Milky Way, named after a candy bar Kara enjoyed, Hail’s team tracked Kara to Kornev’s place. The Hummer had only been in the garage for about fifteen minutes before it exited. The drone, Milky Way, had landed on the roof across from Kornev’s house. It had an excellent vantage point of the property. It had an integrated solar array atop its carbon fiber cover to maintain its charge.
“Kornev’s Hummer is leaving his garage,” Jason Wilson told Hail.
Hail had relieved Captain Nichols in the mission control room and was sitting in the big chair, waiting, on the off-chance Kara needed him.
“Follow him,” Hail told the pilot.
“That’s a negative, Skipper,” the pilot told him. “I used up almost all the drone’s juice just flying from the airport to Kornev’s house. We need at least an hour to recharge before we can fly again — depending on cloud cover.”
Hail already knew that Foreigner was low on fuel, and it had been recalled to the Hail Proton.
“But we can’t lose the Hummer,” Hail complained although he realized it was out of the pilot’s hands.
“You tell me what you want to do, Marshall. I will fly this thing until it dies and lands in the street if that’s what you want — it’s your drone.”
Hail knew he couldn’t allow that because it would be a waste of a wonderful and expensive drone. And he didn’t want his technology to fall into the wrong hands.
Hail said nothing. He was very frustrated. He had dozens of drones in his fleet, yet he had nothing available to follow the Hummer.
“It’s my fault,” Hail told the pilot. “I should have sent Foghat there sooner. I just didn’t expect them to leave this quickly.”
The drone’s camera began panning to the left, following the Hummer as it turned the corner and disappeared.
“Did we see who was inside?” Hail asked hopefully.
“That’s a negative, Skipper. The tint on the Hummer is too dark to see anything from the rear of the vehicle.”
Hail shook his head and mumbled a single word to himself, “Dammit.”
Boko Haram Enclave — Jungle near Lagos, Nigeria
There was no funeral for Afua Diambu because there was no physical body to bury — Baako hadn’t told anyone that Afua had died. That detail was unnecessary to share because the men on the beach who bore witness to Afua’s grisly death had been killed in the explosion. Thus, Baako could quietly assume his brother’s identity, life and role within the Boko Haram as leader.
But, now things would be different with a true Christian leading the Boko Haram.
The first thing Baako did was convene a meeting with his lieutenants. The new caliphate had traveled deep into the jungle to meet with his men in one of the Boko Haram camps. Baako had been shown to a large wooden chair positioned in front of a massive fire pit.
Baako stood and addressed the men in English.
“Beginning today, we will change how things are done.”
Baako stared into the inquisitive looks on his hardened lieutenants’ faces. His hand rested on a 9mm handgun stuffed into a holster attached to his belt. It was his brother’s gun that he wore during his days leading the Boko Haram.
“And we are going to start by freeing the women we had kidnapped from the school so many years ago.”
A rumbling of dissension erupted from his men — some had married the girls Baako was referencing.
“What if they are our women — our wives?” one of his senior lieutenants asked.
“Each of the women will come before me. I will ask them if they would like to stay or if they would rather leave. If the answer is leave, they will be permitted to depart without fear of punishment of any type. Have I made myself clear?”
The sounds of agitated men filled the forest.
The same man asked a simple question.
“Why?”
“Because we have had them long enough,” Baako barked at him. “It’s time to move on to other business. We can’t let this one mission define us. We can’t let kidnapping women be what puts on the map — the only reason for which we are
known. We are better than this, and it is time to move forward. These women will no longer define our organization. We will be known for far better things we will accomplish.”
Baako’s words seemed to appease the men and put a damper on the open hostility that had flared up within the group.
Baako watched the men talk amongst themselves. After a moment or two, he told the men, “Now, get the women out here. Let’s see who wants to stay and who wants to go.”
Somewhere on the Continent of Asia
Kara walked down the stairs of the Boeing 787 on the wide tarmac. She spotted a man who had been seated next to her on the airplane. Before they had even reached the terminal, Kara turned on the charm and asked the olive-skinned man, “I don’t have any currency, and I need to make a phone call.”
It was a white lie. She had Kornev’s wallet stuffed with money, but she wanted to use a phone that could not be traced back to her. She reasoned borrowing a cellphone from a traveling stranger was optimal.
As she walked toward the terminal building, she realized that she didn’t even know where she was. She had bought a ticket for the first plane out of Termez. The destination had been told to her by the pleasant woman working the ticket counter in Uzbekistan. But Kara had not taken it in. She knew where she wanted to end up, and all the places in the middle were just that, places on the way to her end destination. She recalled that the country ended in the phoneme — stan, but that meant it could have been any of several countries packed tightly into the same region.
The man smiled back at Kara and began fumbling around in his pocket for his cellphone. His hand came back holding a small flip phone which Kara accepted with a gracious smile.
“Thank you so much,” Kara said.
“You are very welcome,” the man told her. “Are you going to be staying in town?” he asked, thinking this just might be his lucky day.
“No, I wish I were,” Kara told him, making a pouty face. “I am flying out on the same plane once it is refueled.”
The man looked unhappy. He shifted gears and told Kara, “Enjoy your very short time in our country.”
“I will,” Kara told him. “And, thank you again. I will be a minute, I promise.”
Inside the terminal, Kara walked to the nearest wall to provide privacy before dialing the number from memory. She gave her surroundings a quick 360-degree scan while she waited for an answer. The phone began to ring. It rang three more times before the answering machine engaged.
The voice recording said, “Leave a message.”
She recognized Dr. Nikita Sokolov’s voice, although it sounded a little younger. When at the doctor’s home, Kornev had joked with the doctor about never answering his phone.
She left a message. “This is Victor’s friend, Tonya. Victor needs your help. He is in one of the tunnels that leads from one of his garages to his house. He told me you know about all his secret tunnels. He needs your help to get out of one of them. If you don’t help him, he will most certainly die in the tunnel.”