The Zombie Game (18 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Aboard the
Ana Brigette

7:32 p.m.

BUT WHAT KIND OF
bomb is this ship supposed to launch? We’d dumped something into the Caribbean Sea.

“The crate I drove into the water was either a dummy bomb planted to confuse us or extra chemicals they didn’t absolutely need. But what’s the real role for this ship? Farok paid a lot for those weapons, whatever they were. He could have done anything, but he’s obviously satisfied with this course of action. I know one thing: This ship is moving fast. He’s trying to get in range. Of
something
. With something. What the hell happened? Why did they just leave it there?”

“For some reason, Farok wants us to believe this boat is carrying the nukes,” Keyes said. “And we know it’s not.”

“But I’m sure a bomb was delivered to that airstrip in Saint-Marc.”

“Are you sure that’s not more misinformation he’s feeding us?”

Keyes shrugged.

“You think there
is
a nuclear bomb?” I asked her.

“I do. Farok does everything on a grand scale. A dirty bomb with either nuclear waste or chemical weapons would be small potatoes to him.”

“I’m thinking like you are. He has a nuclear weapon, but we haven’t the foggiest idea where it is. We have to play this out. When we find where it is, then we’ll strike.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Aboard the
Ana Brigette

1:00 a.m.

THE ROAR OF THE
Russian-made helicopters returned. This time, I could hear the whining of the top rotor. I looked at my watch: exactly five minutes from when we’d heard of Farok’s impending arrival.

A few seconds later, we heard footsteps in the hall. The door flung open. Mobuto and four armed men pointed guns at us.

“Get your asses out here,” Mobuto ordered.

I carried the exhausted Keyes, and Jakjak followed. We were led to the same room where the emir had met with us earlier.

Farok was all smiles. “I trust you all rested well.”

“Like chickens in a hawk’s nest.” There was no disguising the edge in my voice.

“Then you accept me as the hawk and you as my chickies,” he sneered as he rubbed the gold amulet hanging from his neck.

“More like a buzzard playing with wolves.”

He leaned over and looked at Keyes’ hand. “And where is the pretty opal ring I gave you?”

“It’s at the bottom of the ocean. The fish will have the bad luck it brings.”

He frowned, went back to his seat, and smiled again. “Now, now, my little chickies. Let’s get down to our dinner plans.”

I felt Keyes shiver. I held her tight.

“I told you that you’d be my dinner guests. Well, that’s the next planned event of your holiday cruise. The three of us will have an intimate dinner aboard my yacht, where we will watch the special fireworks I’ve planned.”

“Let’s make that a five-person dinner party. I insist that Captain Paulissen and my assistant, Jakjak, be invited.”

Farok’s left eye began to twitch. He cleared his throat and screamed, “I’m the host and I’ll invite whomever I wish! The other two will not be there!”

“So the Captain’s meat is too bruised for your taste? And with his broken arm and busted-up face, he’s not attractive enough to sit at your table?”

Farok sprung to his feet and his face grew red. Jumping up and down, he screamed, “I will be so glad to shut your blasphemous mouth and teach you to respect me, the Prince of God! You’ll soon be asking Allah’s forgiveness for your words.”

He pointed at Jakjak and spoke in Arabic to Mobuto. He seemed to be giving him orders.

Farok walked up to me and stood on his tiptoes to glare into my face. I laughed.

This made him even angrier. He screamed, “My helicopter will take you and your whore to my royal yacht! Your friends will stay here!” He turned and walked from the room.

I whispered to Jakjak, “If we’re separated, get Lars to the lifeboat. I’m guessing that when Farok launches the missiles, the US will blow this ship out of the water.” I started to turn away but whispered again, “Cradle him like I’m doing for Keyes. With his broken bones and battered body, the long drop to the sea in the lifeboat could kill him. Don’t let him die.”

“
O wi.
”

Aboard One of Farok’s Helicopters

1:10 a.m.

Farok and his five bodyguards boarded the first helicopter and flew away. Keyes and I got on the second copter with five of the soldiers. The first thing I looked for were tattoos. All five bore the three dots in a triangle. The suicide jihadis. Keyes followed my gaze, and when she saw the tattoos, tears came to her eyes. I pulled her body close.

I looked around to assess the situation. One of the jihadis was young. He had no wrinkles from either frowning or age, and his facial expression was almost pleasant. His hands were smooth and callus-free. He was a schoolboy or the son of a well-to-do family, obviously never having done the rigorous field-training required of terrorists. And he handled his gun like he’d never held one before. The other four guys were older and looked like experienced soldiers.

After a while, fatigue crept over Keyes and me. I tried to fight it, but drifted into sleep.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Aboard the
Royal Princess
Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean

3:59 a.m.

I AWAKENED WITH A
start as the helicopter touched down. I looked out at the landing area. From what little I could see in the limited light, we seemed to be on a large yacht, certainly big enough to have a landing pad. When the lights on the copter were turned off, everything went dark for a couple of minutes and then flashlights appeared.

I looked down at Keyes.

She rubbed her eyes and looked at me. “I love you,” she silently mouthed.

Those were the first words of affection she’d expressed since she’d come to Haiti. It made me feel good. I smiled.

Keyes looked out the window. “This is Omar’s private yacht, the
Royal Princess
.”

“Have you been on it before?”

She nodded.

“With him?”

She looked down. “It’s registered to Jacob Abrams. He keeps the yacht in Saint Kitts, in the Basseterre Marina, for Farok.”

My heart sank thinking about the other men she had been with, but I didn’t say anything.

One of Farok’s bodyguards opened the door and shined a flashlight in my face. Another large, muscular guard bent to help Keyes walk, but I took her in my arms and pulled her away from him. The guy with the flashlight motioned toward the door. I followed him. The beefy guard took up the rear. We walked through two unlighted first-floor staterooms to a room on the lower deck with lights so bright I was momentarily blinded.

Omar Farok sat at the head of a large oval table, still dressed in his flowing robe and keffiyeh head wrap. The room was lavishly decorated, and a crystal chandelier hung over the table. The outside windows were covered, which told me the ship was hiding from something.

As I helped Keyes into her seat, she anchored her forearms on the table and quipped, “Pardon the elbows.” I could see her arms trembling. She was still feeling the effects of the drugs, and was scared to death of Farok. If I had been smart, I’d have been frightened, too.

The table was set with expensive-looking china, silver, and crystal wineglasses, but was devoid of food. I looked for a weapon. The suicide jihadis had placed their guns in a closet at the door when we’d entered. The only knives on the table were for butter.

A server poured white wine as another filled the water glasses. The servers were big and burly, so much so that I suspected they were Farok’s bodyguards.

Farok tapped his glass with his spoon. “Welcome, my friends from America and England, and five of my bravest warriors.”

Farok turned his head back and forth as he addressed the jihadis, sitting two to my right and three to my left. He spoke in Arabic and kept using the name Abdal Raman; each time, the oldest-looking of the jihadis would bow.
He must be the jihadi in charge.

Finally, Farok looked at me. “I have prepared a meal that will be much to your liking.” He squinted. “The meal I’ve been telling you about all week. I hope you enjoy.”

I was amused by everything about him—his rigid posture, his hands held stiffly in front of him, his talk, and his solemn facial expression, as if he were trying to mimic a great orator of the past. I recalled from a college Latin class a speech given by Roman gladiators before they went to fight for the amusement of their emperor.

Raising my wineglass, I toasted Farok. “We who are about to die, salute you.”

As Farok and Keyes raised their glasses, I saw the young jihadist partially raise his glass and then put it down.
So he knows English
.

Farok raised his glass and said, “Emperor Cassius answered that by saying, ‘Or not.’ But I am not Cassius. All of you will die.” His face showed a faint smile as his eyes flicked between Keyes and me.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched the young man who understood English. He grimaced at the Emir’s words.

Farok’s sour expression returned. “You will not be disappointed by the feast prepared for you”

Tears came to Keyes’ eyes.

Farok continued. “The first course is lobster ceviche with yucca chips. I first enjoyed this at the dinner table of the French Prime Minister, Alain Cresson. Alain gave me his recipe, and I shared it once on this same yacht with my darling Elizabeth.”

The guards quickly served delicate, triangular-shaped crystal bowls filled with large pieces of fresh Maine lobster covered with bits of tomato and avocado and with four-inch-long chips projecting up from the concoction. I’d never been exposed to a dish like that. I looked at Keyes to learn how to properly consume it. She didn’t have an appetite and just stirred her food with her fork. I looked at the jihadis. They picked out the yucca chips with their fingers and crunched away. The English-speaking jihadi obviously had partaken of such a delicacy before, as he ignored the chips and lifted the lobster with his fork. I followed that technique.

I was famished, and under different circumstances, I’d have enjoyed the gourmet food. But I wanted to learn more of Farok’s plan.

“So when are the fireworks to begin?” I asked.

Farok silently sipped his wine and looked me in the eyes for at least a full minute. I stared him down, never blinking. The man was obsessed with himself. He shifted in his chair and twisted the end of his mustache counterclockwise until the end lost its point and became fuzzy.
No wonder his mustache looks funny. The person who put that on him had twisted it clockwise.

Finally, he spoke. “Before I forget, I will return this object to the rightful owner.” He clapped his hands, and one of his bodyguards brought out a large cooking pot and held it out to me.

My heart sank. Our plan had been found out. I took the pot and placed it in the center of the table.

Farok’s eyes shifted between Keyes and me. “You’ll be sad to learn that your trickery was discovered before my launch pad was so far away as to keep my bombs from striking your mainland.” He shuffled in his chair. “And that both missiles are now armed and fully functional.”

“Thanks for returning the pot I lost. I was planning to roast your goose in it.”

Farok’s body shook and he clenched his fists. He stood and stomped his feet. “Damn you, Doctor James! I’d planned for you and your friend to be my main course. I sincerely regret that time constraints necessitated that omission from the present meal.”

He took a deep breath and sat. He played with his napkin a moment before resuming his speech.

“This entire exercise is a game, Dr. James, a game to test the Great Devil’s reaction time. I will allow you to notify your leaders of the launch time at precisely 6:20 Saturday morning.” He held up a cell phone. “I have programmed in the number of the CIA leader with whom you communicated two months ago, Roy Perkins.”

I looked at Keyes and raised my eyebrows.

“You will have precisely forty seconds to tell him that two nuclear warheads will be launched from the
Ana Brigette
to the mainland of America. After forty seconds, the phone will destroy itself. You will be wise to throw it overboard to prevent your own injury when it blows up.”

Farok passed the cell phone to Abdal Raman, and Raman placed it in his left breast pocket.

That’s Plan A: Get that phone as soon as I can, and call Roy Perkins at the CIA.

He looked at his watch again, then back at me. “I’ll return to this yacht after the bombs explode. And then you’ll watch as your paralyzed friend here is placed on a platter on this table and I enjoy my human sashimi. Of course, I’ll use more of Sanfia’s zombie potions to further incapacitate the two of you without altering your ability to feel every cut I make.”

I glanced at Keyes.

“So you’ll feed us puffer fish at our last meal?”

“No, the next meal you have will be zombie cucumber. It subdues the mind and makes a person extremely cooperative, quite unlike what the puffer fish has done with you. All zombies are given this when they are taken from their graves. And you will have your cucumbers soon enough.” He looked at me with a scowl. “I will enjoy having complete control of your body and that filthy tongue of yours.”

Farok tried to smile and continue the conversation. “I trust Dr. Tomas is enjoying the fine cuisine in the Port-au-Prince jail. His mother is a beautiful woman and was quite hospitable to me last night. She gave me the love that my beauty here failed to provide.” He smiled at Keyes. “Quite a nice evening. And her assistance in acquiring my ‘loan’ from the Haitian government this week was quite successful. It is hard to find such large sums of money that can be so easily had. Mrs. Duran has influential friends in the President’s office.”

“So the Haitian President, Longpre, is your buddy?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never met President Longpre, but the police chief, Javier Conrad, is influential in government and in the Vodoun society.”

“You know Sanfia. She likes money and extravagant gifts, like Rolex watches.”

“Oh, I reward my friends quite handsomely.”

As the lavish dishes continued to roll out, I continued to try to get more information from him. Suddenly he slammed both fists on the table and screamed, “Shut the fuck up! Your insolent chatter annoys me!” He finished his meal without speaking or even looking up.