Storm Killer (23 page)

Score! The young Grégoire danced on his toes with his arms raised in triumph like his favorite professional soccer player always did when he scored. He stopped when he heard his father’s voice calling for him to come home. “Yes, Papa, I’m coming!” the young boy yelled back to his father.

The boy’s teammates clustered around him and clapped his back and howled in victory. After about five seconds of victory celebration, as with all small boys, they lost interest and began looking for something new to do. Grégoire waved over his shoulder to his friends as he ran home. “Adieu, see you tomorrow!”

Grégoire knew something was wrong when he walked in the door and saw his parents’ faces. They were concerned about something. His father looked scared. His mother looked like she was ready to cry.

The little boy thought he had done something wrong to cause his parents such obvious grief, “Mama, Papa, did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

His mother reached down and picked him up and hugged him close to her bosom. “No, my dear Grégoire! You’ve done nothing wrong. We are just concerned because a very bad storm is coming.”

She continued to hold him close and he felt like his breath was being forced from his body. Like many seven-year-old boys, he didn’t like showing affection for his mother because he felt embarrassed when she did things like this. But today, he allowed it as he thought,
At least my friends aren’t here to see this mama’s boy!
  

Finally, Grégoire pleaded, “Mama, let me down. I have to go potty.”

She released him and he ran toward the toilet. While he did have the need to go, he really just wanted to get some distance between him and his mother before she did something else to embarrass him.

Just as he closed the door to the bathroom, he heard his mother ask his father, “Shall we stay here, or shall we go?” He didn’t hear his father’s reply.

Gérard looked at Adélaïde and said, “We should go to Mount Isabel before the winds start. Just as we have in other major hurricanes.”

Mount Isabel was undoubtedly Puerto Plata's most impressive geographic feature, at 2,600-feet high; it was a popular attraction for tourists and locals alike. A statue of Christ, similar to the one in Rio de Janeiro, adorned the mountain. A seven-minute cable car ride, up the nearly vertical slope, provided access to the statue and a small masonry visitor’s center. 

“I’ll call Jacques and find out when they plan to shut down the cable car,” Gérard continued. Jacques, his cousin, was one of the local cable car operators. “He might be able to make one last run to take family members to the top. We’ll take food and water and shelter in the visitor’s center.” Gérard’s uncle owned the visitor’s center. He was sure his uncle would allow blood relatives to use the center as a storm shelter. 

He went on, “If all else fails, we can drive the car to the top.”

This made Adélaïde shiver. She’d ridden with her husband to the top once right after they were married, and swore she would never do it again if given the choice. The ride had been a hair-raising experience in good weather. She didn’t want to think about trying it in bad weather. Ever!

At that moment, the front door burst open. With much talking and giggling, Bernadette arrived home in the company of her two neighborhood girl friends. She laughed as her friend, Sara, told her about Henri’s look of love for Bernadette. Bernadette found this amusing because Henri was the school bully, who would lose an IQ contest to a tree stump. Nothing about Henry appealed to Bernadette. He was crude and mean. Bernadette wanted much more than that from her boyfriends.
Or should I say, lovers, instead of boyfriends?
Bernadette pondered to herself.
 
 

She cut her eyes toward her father.
I wonder what Papa would say if he knew I was having sex with two of my boyfriends? He would probably burst a blood vessel!
Somehow, Sara had found a supply of birth-control pills. She had supplied them both with the pills for well over a year.

She giggled at the thought and ran off to her room with her two friends.

Her father looked as his daughter and her friends disappeared into her room. “She is getting to be a handful. I hope she gives us no trouble when the storm comes,” he said to Adélaïde.

She looked at the closed bedroom door and said, “Yes, no trouble from her for we have enough coming from Edna.” 

In the Haitian-barrio section of the city,
Yvon Latortue, returned home from her job as a nurse at the local hospital. She had to get dinner ready for her three children. She smiled as she looked at the three of them sitting at the table doing their homework.

Yvon was strict with her precious children. They had to complete their homework before dinner, or if too much homework was assigned, they had to finish it before any television would be allowed. Her strictness seemed to have little impact on Henri.

Henri, her oldest, was a challenging boy. He was always in trouble in school. He was always fighting, bullying, and terrifying the smaller, weaker students. He seemed to be smitten by Bernadette, the Simeon’s daughter. Yvon had met them several times at school activities, but they were in a higher social stratum than her family was. She thought,
Henri doesn’t have a chance with that girl. Nor do I really want him to, based on the rumors around town! That Simeon girl is a tramp!

Jean and Jacques, her two younger children were picking at each other at the table. Jean yelled, “Mama, make him stop! He’s messing up my homework.” Jacques just smiled and continued pulling at Jean’s notebook.

“Jacques, leave Jean alone! Stop it!” Yvon threatened the ten-year-old boy. Jacques stopped for a second and then started again. Henri looked disgusted with the endless racket and boxed Jacques on the ears. Yvon gasped, “Henri, don’t hit your brother. That’s not nice!”

Henri growled, “Look, old woman, I’m fed up with these two squabbling. If you don’t want to fix it, I will! I’m tired of all of the noise. I’m going out!” Henri got up and headed for the door. “I’ll grab something to eat with the guys.”  

Yvon tried to protest but Henri was through the door and gone before she could even form her argument. 

Jacques sat and rubbed his head where Henri had hit him. There were tears in his eyes but he wasn’t going to cry. He wouldn’t give Henri the pleasure of knowing he’d made Jacques cry.
I hate Henri. He’s no brother. He’s just an animal.
   

They ate the meal Yvon prepared. It was largely rice, but well flavored with small pieces of meat and cubed vegetables. Yvon had learned to stretch the money she earned nursing to care for her children. Henri seemed to despise her for what he saw as “cheapness” and never failed to tell her. 

Jacques helped Yvon clean up and put things away for the evening. They had just settled in to watching a game show from the United States over the illegal satellite receiver Yvon had purchased on the local black market, when the front door flew open and Henri strode in. He stood in front of the TV and announced, “There’s a hurricane warning underway. We have to find shelter in the next ten to twelve hours!” 

Yvon shook her head at her eldest son. “No, Henri, we will stay here. Our apartment is on the second floor. We have everything we need right here. We will just board up our windows and we’ll be safe.”  

Henri countered, “Mama, the announcement is that this is the mother of all storms. They want everyone to leave the city.”

“No, Henri. I’ll not leave my home. Nor will my children.”

Henri knew his mother would never leave her home. It was a choice of staying with her and his siblings and probably dying, or run for the hills by himself.
I have to think about myself.
Henri thought as he moved to his sleeping area in the large bedroom he and his brothers shared. He had to pack a few things.

51

Senator Gutierrez pressed the call button on the intercom unit sitting on his immense, hand-carved,
Ziricote wood desk.

He pressed the required four-digit code on the keypad hidden among the ornate figures carved in to the right edge of the desktop. A small, hidden compartment’s panel popped open on the left side of the desktop. 

The artisans who had built his desk had spared no expense in finding the richest native Ziricote wood. T
he desk was a rich dark brown, with thin wavy black lines like walnut, but with the hardness and color tones of rosewood.

He had personally supervised the desk’s construction and had fired several wood carvers before finding the two men who finally finished his masterpiece. They had built a special false panel into the top of the desk that opened to reveal a hanging files compartment. The Senator used this space to hold his “eyes only,” ultra confidential files. Most of these were legitimate government related operations, but several were highly volatile non-sanctioned projects, such as the current Storm Killer operation. 

He brushed some lint off the surface of the desk as he waited for his assistant to answer. He loved this desk.

The Senator reached into the compartment and withdrew the folder marked “Storm Killer.”

“Yes, Senator?” young Antonio replied to the buzzer.

The Senator pressed the talk key on the intercom. “I’ve received word that the United Nations Security Council will not be able meet in emergency session in time to deal with the Storm Killer problem.”

Antonio was already aware of this from his normal government information channels. Apparently, too many council members were unavailable at such short notice. Antonio realized that his employer, having exhausted the political solution, was bound on the illegal espionage solution. 

“I need for you to get our inside man in Washington on the phone for me. Put him through to me as soon as possible,” the Senator requested and released the intercom key.

“Very well, Senator, at once,” Antonio replied and disconnected.  

The Senator read through the background file on his Washington inside man. He was a well-respected member of the scientific community, was well placed within the Storm Killer project advisory team, and was a high-powered member of the White House staff.

He had been bought and paid for with money from a special government black-ops projects fund controlled by the Senator and his Senate subcommittee. The uses of black ops money were never audited nor reported through any standard government channels. No one in Mexico City would ever know nor question the expenditures.  

There was a knock on the closed office door. “One moment!” the Senator ordered. He quickly replaced the file within the secret compartment and closed the desk panel. Once closed, there was not a hint of the existence of the hidden panel.

“Enter,” The Senator invited.

His assistant opened the door and entered. He carried a clipboard with several papers held in place. He walked to the desk, laid the clipboard on the desk, turned it so the Senator could examine the contents, and said, “Here’s the latest intelligence from your men on Storm Killer, and your man in the White House. As you can see, the situation deteriorates with each passing minute. Your man at the White House is on line one awaiting your pleasure.”

The Senator quickly scanned the reports, nodded and punched the blinking line one button on his desk phone.

“Doctor?” The Senator began.

“Yes, sir. This is very bad time to talk. Look things are hectic here right now. We will shortly accomplish our goal. I’m really too busy to spend any t---.”

The Senator cut off the doctor’s last remark. “Then stop your infernal talking! Just listen! The political path has failed. You will implement Plan Omega. I want the immediate destruction of the space station. Allow enough time to get the remaining crew away from the station and then have the Russians blast it into oblivion. Do you understand your orders?”

“Yes, sir. This shouldn’t be difficult. The President is already talking with the Russians about their aid in annihilating the station. I’ll report back when the missile launches.” 

“Good. Is there any problems that can derail our plans?” the Senator asked.

“The only problem is the onboard security team. They are good, and aggressive. They’ve already recovered the chip. But our number two associate there has gotten it back, at least, for the moment. That required taking out one of the security team.”

“Which one?”

“Hoch.”

“I really wish it had been Danby. She is far too clever. She may figure out who our inside people are before our objective is met.”

“I would agree. I would discuss it with our number one associate on board and see if he can take her out, but the missile launch is imminent and she can’t possibly stop it at this point.”

“I think it is best if we terminate Ms. Danby immediately. Make it happen!” The Senator snapped the order.

“As you wish. I’ll go and get the rest of Plan Omega underway, and have our number one take her out immediately. I’ll call you when the missile launches.” With that the doctor hung up.         

The Senator listened to the other end of the line disconnect, and he slowly replaced the phone in the cradle.