“Irresistible,” Trissy replied.
“Two Amarulas straight up, and the check please?” Rex requested, handing Tunk his credit card. Madame Chum stood up and walked away from the adjacent table.
Moments later Tunk laid the check down and scurried off after her without saying another word.
“Well, it’s been a rather unusual evening. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Rex suggested, finishing the sweet brown concoction derived from the South African marula nut.
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Trissy replied as she stood.
Moments later, they left the comfort and warmth of Rula’s.
“Damn it’s cold!” Rex complained, pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck and then quickly gazing at his watch. It was midnight.
“And sobering as well,” Trissy added as they dodged downed tree limbs and walked through the nearly vacant parking lot toward her car.
“With Halloween officially over, I can honestly admit that Carencrow has not lost any of its eeriness. That’s for sure!” Rex emphasized, opening the passenger side door for his nearly frozen wife.
Rex jogged around to the driver’s side and hopped in. No sooner had the Mercedes SL-500 engine roared to life than Trissy was searching for her favorite CD. As the car warmed up, Rex sat quietly, deep in thought, reflecting on the tragedy in the Persian Gulf.
Suddenly, both the silence and Rex’s trance were broken by the blaring sound of “How Deep is Your Love.”
Rex placed the car in drive, and they headed home.
Chapter 8
The morning air was cold and still. It was 0530, and the sun was about to rise over the Atchafalaya Basin and Camp Eagle. On a rickety wooden dock adjacent to the camp, the lights had begun to dim, and people could be seen moving about, preparing for the arrival of the much-anticipated cargo ship. The camp consisted of three large Quonset huts constructed of corrugated tin, erected on stilts. The camp itself was situated on a small sand bar within Whiskey Bay, miles away from civilization.
Mohammad and Yassar stood at the dock as an age-ravaged relic of a ship approached, quietly gliding through the still waters. Suddenly, the engines seemed to come to life as they were thrust into reverse. The propeller started to dig violently into the dense, dark medium. The cold water appeared to boil, and the ship started to shudder as the engines made every effort to stop the vessels’ forward momentum. Moments later, the engines once again fell silent. The ship had come to a stop. Several mooring lines were thrown over the side as deck hands scurried about to secure the lines. The cargo ship had arrived, and the name Il-sung was now visible. The gangway was soon lowered with a loud grinding noise as one end of the rectangular metal structure rubbed against the ship’s rusty hull.
“This is a very proud moment for us, Yassar,” Mohammad said.
“It has been a long time coming, Mohammad. We shall now be able to seek our revenge,” Yassar responded.
In the early morning haze, two men could be seen making their way down the gangway. Shortly thereafter, they came face-to-face with Mohammad and Yassar.
“Welcome home, Raspar,” Mohammad announced as the two men hugged.
“Greetings, Mohammad, from our North Korean brothers,” Raspar said proudly.
“This is Captain Asaki of the North Korean Navy,” Raspar continued, introducing the captain of the Il-sung.
Captain Asaki was an elderly sea dog. He was short and thin in stature with a scraggly gray beard and weathered skin, dressed in a beige polyester uniform and sporting an oil-smudged white skipper’s cap, which appeared far too large, with the brim covering his forehead.
“Captain Asaki, we are honored to meet you and most appreciative for your services and your country’s tireless efforts in fighting the infidels,” Mohammad replied.
“Your battle is our battle. The Americans present a danger to us and all the Muslim people,” Captain Asaki replied.
“We have had good fortune in our transpacific passage, Mohammad. The seas have been fair, and thus we made excellent time,” Raspar said.
“Yes indeed, Mohammad. However, many of my men became sick in transit, due to the exposure to our cargo, I fear. Sadly, several died and each honored soul slipped into the Caribbean. Others have been vomiting for days and are severely dehydrated. They require immediate medical assistance,” Captain Asaki relayed politely, but with great concern for his shipmates who were still living.
“I am indeed sorry to hear of the death and illness. Rest assured, we will get your men to the hospital immediately. Captain, this is Yassar, my second in command. He will ensure that your men are cared for,” Mohammad assured him.
“I am pleased to meet you, Yassar,” Captain Asaki replied appreciatively.
“I am honored, Captain. Please have your men assemble by this large oak tree,” Yassar said, pointing to a tree surrounded by a circular crushed oyster shell drive.
“We shall leave within the hour,” Yassar added as Captain Asaki bowed his head in respect.
“Raspar, is the shipment as ordered?” Mohammad inquired.
“Yes Mohammad, with few exceptions. I have the manifest with me,” Raspar stated confidently.
“Excellent! We shall review it momentarily,” Mohammad replied.
“Captain Asaki, the storage facility for the liquid death has been built to your countryman’s specifications,” Yassar said, pointing to the concrete structure to his right. “However, we have no protective suits,” Yassar added, with little concern.
“We do, but unfortunately they do not work as well as we had assumed. Still, my men will complete the job and transfer the deadly cargo ashore. However, we could certainly use a hand offloading all the munitions,” Captain Asaki requested.
“Captain, we have thirty of our freedom fighters standing by to assist. Utilize them as you see fit,” Mohammad instructed before continuing. “And Yassar, take Captain Asaki’s men to Carencrow Regional. But first, alert GeeHad so he is not caught by surprise.”
“As you wish, Mohammad,” Yassar replied without hesitation.
“Captain Asaki, please let us know if there’s anything else we can do to expedite the process,” Mohammad added before turning and walking away with Raspar and Yassar at his side.
The three men walked across a gravel path and into the largest of Camp Eagle’s improvements. This structure served as the command post and was bustling with activity. At least fifteen men were either sitting down at computer terminals or scurrying about. There was a loud rumbling sound generated by those engaged in conversation, but the voices were indistinguishable.
There was a transparent eight-by-ten-foot map of the United States constructed of thick plastic suspended from the ceiling in one corner of the room, with a similar map of the world situated in the opposite corner. Behind each map stood two people drawing symbols reflecting the latest updates regarding the location of sleeper cells and material. The information also reflected the sources and the respective amount of funding available worldwide to fuel this deadly operation. Funds could be wire-transferred quickly, easily, and without detection from this remote post. In the center of the room stood a large table from which Mohammad could watch his evil plan unfold.
Raspar sensed an air of excitement. He was amazed that such a sophisticated command post could exist within the infidels’ homeland, yet his sense of exhilaration was tempered by a sudden wave of stomach cramps and nausea. Was he just exhausted, or, as he feared, had he been exposed to the Il-sung’s lethal cargo? Mohammad sat down with Yassar and Raspar. He could sense that Raspar was not well, but proceeded anyway.
“Raspar,