Unlawful Chase

by C J Schnier

  "Right," Blatt began. "La Alma del Taino has been a minor obsession of mine since I first heard rumors of it in my undergraduate studies. But its location has eluded me, and everyone else for that matter. The best I had been able to do was narrow down its hiding spot to south central Cuba, which as you know is an enormous area to search. I had all but given up on it, having exhausted my leads and moved on to other projects. Then, two weeks ago, Adrian Pruitt gives me the one clue I needed."

  "Convenient," I muttered. "How did Pruitt's guy get the location? Do we know if it is genuine?"

  "I can not speak for how the bloke cracked the location, but after digging through my research and using the new information, it looks genuine. I have written a very detailed report you can look over tonight while you prepare to retrieve the artifact. You will stay the night, won't you?" he asked.

  "It wouldn't be a bother, would it? I won't lie, it was a bit of a trek from the resort and as you know, the town is crawling with General Blackmarket's troops."

  "Bardales," he corrected.

  "Whatever. Where's that file at? I might as well learn what I can."

  The already dim room suddenly grew darker, as if a cloud had moved in front of the sun. Both Blatt and I instinctively looked to the dingy windows and realized it wasn't a cloud that had dimmed the sun, it was people. Blurry shadows moved behind the windows and a split second later we both jumped at a sudden loud banging at the front door.

  "Señor Blatt. Please open this door immediately, on behalf of the Department of Cuban Antiquities," a heavily accented but firm voice called out in English.

  "Shit!" Blatt exclaimed. "Bardales must know I'm after the Alma too."

  "What does that mean for you? Hell, what does that mean for me? I'm not exactly here legally, Doc!" I reminded him.

  Another loud pounding from the door increased my desperation. Panicked, I ran to the back kitchen entrance and took a hasty glance. More hazy shadows stood fidgeting behind each of the windows. There seemed to be no way out. The house appeared surrounded.

  "Chase!" Miles whispered. "Listen to me. I am most likely about to be arrested. I have a way for you to get out, but I'm no adventurer, I won't run from this. There is a file hidden in the bookcase. It has all the information you need. Once they leave, sneak back in and get it. It will lead you to the idol."

  I paused long enough to collect my wits and wondered what trick he had up his sleeve. As if he had read my mind, he slid the giant work table aside and lifted the corner of the rug to reveal a hidden trapdoor.

  "What if they find the file?" I asked, already moving towards the door.

  Blatt pulled it open and motioned me inside. "Pray they don't. Stay down there until they leave. The passage comes out in the rain forest on the east side of the village. If they follow you, don't stop until you're well away."

  "How the hell did you know about this?" I asked, surprised.

  "I didn't choose to rent this rundown old shack for nothing. Now go! Don't worry about me. When the idol is gone, Bardales will lose interest and let me go."

  I hesitated a moment, just as another warning boomed out from behind the heavy front door.

  "Señor Blatt. This is your last warning," the voice bellowed.

  Blatt's head snapped towards the door and he yelled out in all his Scottish glory, "I'm comin' ya lavvy-heided wankstain!" He then swiveled his head back towards me and urged me on. "Go, lad! Get down there."

  I nodded at him, silently wishing him luck, and clambered down the stairs into the unknown. As soon as I was clear, he replaced the trapdoor and rug. I could hear him sliding the table back into place as the front door of the old villa exploded with a loud crack. Gruff voices filled the room above, drowned out by the colorful, but foul, protests of Miles Blatt.

  The voices raged back and forth, growing in both volume and intensity as men filed into the house. Finally, someone shouted something in Spanish, loud enough to rise over the commotion, and a moment later Blatt's insults ceased with a sickening crunch. A single low moan escaped the Scotsman as he collapsed to the floor above me. An ear-splitting silence filled the room for nearly a minute until someone dragged his unconscious body away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Blatt's precariously stacked towers of books crashed down one after another as the soldiers searched the house. I pressed my head against the trapdoor, trying to glean whatever information I could from the rapid-fire Spanish being spoken above. What little I could understand was muffled, the rest might as well have been gibberish.

  Footsteps boomed overhead, and every few minutes I could hear the flutter of book pages followed by a dull thud as someone threw book after book across the room. The sound was regular and methodical. Flutter. Thud. Flutter. Thud. I realized they must be searching for Blatt's file on the Alma del Taino.

  Years of dust and dirt rained down on me from the floorboards. The urge to sneeze came on me slowly, compounding upon itself the longer I held it. I forced back wave after wave of the violent and involuntary seizures, my body spasming with each one. Finally,a single small squeak sneaked past my lips, and mercifully, the sneezing fit stopped.

  The noise above ceased as well, going deathly silent for several moments. In my mind, I could picture half a dozen heads cocking as they strained their ears for the slightest of sounds. I kept myself frozen, muscles tensed, ready to flee if I had to. Eventually, the soldiers resumed their efforts to tear apart the house, and I pulled the collar of my shirt over my nose to use as a makeshift mask.

  The men above hunted for another ten minutes, ripping apart the furniture while they searched. I listened for a triumphant shout or some other signal they had found what they were looking for, but it never came. The tenor of their voices slowly morphed from expectation to frustration, the search becoming more brutal as the minutes ticked by.

  "Vamonos!" A gruff voice commanded, loud enough to be heard clearly from my hiding place under the floor. Immediately the noise above slackened, and the footsteps of the soldiers faded away as they filed, one by one, towards the front door.

  I waited five minutes, checking my watch obsessively before I was convinced they were gone, I pushed against the trapdoor. One corner lifted about an inch and then stopped. I pushed harder and was rewarded with another inch, but still it would not open. Placing my back against the trapdoor and bracing myself against the stairs, I used my legs to force the door open. Slowly the trapdoor rose as I grunted with exertion, fighting for every inch. Suddenly, the large table above shifted, screeching as its leg slid across the floor. With the weight of the table gone, the trapdoor shot open, and I stumbled out of the cellar.

  The large living room looked much as it had before. Books and papers were everywhere. But instead of Blatt's untidy stacks, the books now lay with their covers open in lumped piles on the floor. A couple of bare lightbulbs burned from the few lamps still working, the others laying in pieces scattered across the floor. All of the small tables and chairs had been turned over, most of them were now missing legs.

  I picked my way through the mess, tiptoeing silently to the front door in the foyer. It teetered back and forth, supported only by its lower hinge, the other hung useless and flapping, ripped from the doorframe with its screws somehow still in place. A splintered crack, shaped like a jagged lightning bolt, ran from the top of the door to the bottom, splitting it nearly in half. A quick look outside revealed no guards.

  Leaving the foyer, I quickly checked the rest of the house. The spartan kitchen was nearly untouched. A few cans of food had been knocked to the floor, but that was it. Upstairs, I found a few of Dr. Blatt's belongings. His bags had been rifled through and his clothes tossed haphazardly into a corner of a bedroom. A sweat-stained brown mattress leaned against the window with the drawers from the dresser piled up in front of it. Even the bathroom had been ransacked.

  I returned to the study and surveyed the mess again. Blatt told me the file was hidden there somewhere, but finding it would not be easy. I rifled thr
ough the scattered papers and documents on the big table. Topographical maps, mining surveys, geological studies, and aerial photographs made up most of the remaining material. There were several reports, all written in technical Spanish miles beyond my understanding of the language. After flipping through these reports, most of which looked to be on the local populace and the rainforest, I moved on to the desk Pancho had been working at.

  A container of pens and markers had been knocked over, leaving a smattering of writing utensils scattered on the floor around the desk. On top there were a few scattered papers, but little else. Pinned to the wall above it was a handwritten list, scrawled in childish penmanship, nothing more than a simple grocery list. Pancho must have left it behind when Blatt sent him away.

  I moved on to the bookshelves that lined the walls. Many of the books had been removed and now made up the piles on the floor, but some remained resting on their shelves. All of them were old, caked in layers of dust. Most were brown leather-bound tomes and few had legible titles embossed with gold leaf. They didn't look like they had been disturbed in decades.

  I flipped through a few, hoping to find the files Blatt had left for me. Nothing. I flipped through more, discarding book after book but still finding only words. Frustrated, like the soldiers before me, I threw a book towards the far end of the room. I turned to grab the next volume when a shock of color caught my attention. Peeking out from the top of a bookshelf was the corner of a red leather book. It was different from the others. The leather wasn't the same dull matte texture as the rest. It looked newer, still having a shine to it. It looked smaller too. The entire library had an almost homogeneous quality to it, but this one didn't belong. Using one of the few remaining intact chairs as a step stool, I pulled it down.

  Its pages were gilded in gold leaf, but the spine bore no title, nor did the cover. The only marks on the inside of the cover were two letters marked in rich black ink. M.B. Miles Blatt. I flipped the page and then another, and yet another one after that, but the pages were empty. Stifling a groan, I picked up the book by the spine and shook it. A plain, thin envelope fell to the floor. Closing the book, I stooped to retrieve the envelope. On the front were two initials, written with the same rich black ink as the inside of the book. C.H. Chase Hawkins.

  I reached to open the envelope when a floorboard creaked behind me, and I froze.

  "Don't move," a feminine, but arrogant, voice said. "Now, turn around, real slow."

  I put my hands up, doing my best to draw attention away from the envelope, and did as I was told. Standing in the middle of the room a few feet away was a woman. In her hand she held a black Glock 19 pistol, which she pointed, unwaveringly, at my chest.

  She was gorgeous, even in the loose pants and long-sleeve quick-dry shirt that hid her thin, but athletic frame. Tight curly ringlets of blonde-highlighted black hair sprung from her head in all directions, forming a dark halo around her. Her hazel eyes, striking against her olive complexion, were cold and hyper-alert. They moved constantly as she took in her surroundings, rarely straying far from the sights of her weapon.

  "You just saved me a bunch of time," she said. Her voice tinged with a slight southern accent.

  "You're American?" I asked, surprised.

  "I'm whatever I have to be. Now give me the directions Blatt left."

  "This?" I asked, waving the book back and forth. "Sure."

  "Toss it on the table next to me," she said.

  As I leaned forward and flicked the book towards her, I reached back and slipped the envelope into my back pocket. As I had hoped, her eyes had followed the book as it spun through the air and she missed my little sleight of hand. Now I just needed her to leave before she realized the book was empty.

  "You've got what you came for. Now what?" I asked.

  "Now I'm going to have to tie you up. Can't have you following me, can I?" she said as she picked up the book.

  "Lady, even if you hadn't robbed me I would follow you," I replied.

  "Are you hitting on me?" she asked playfully.

  "Can't blame a guy for trying," I said and delivered one of my famous lady-killer winks.

  She laughed a short, mocking laugh. "Does that actually work for you?" she asked with contempt. "Sit in the chair over there lover boy."

  "I seem to be losing my touch," I muttered to myself.

  Being tied up and left for the soldiers to find me did not sound appealing. Getting shot trying to get away sounded worse. But I had to get away from her before she realized my ruse.

  I studied my opponent, ignoring my attraction to her. She was athletic, but built slim, I outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. Overpowering her wouldn't be a problem, but her pistol negated any advantage I might have.

  Keeping her gun trained on me, she raised the red leather book and opened it. Her eyes narrowed at first, and then she leaned in towards the book, as if studying it. Her eyes grew wider, and the pistol drooped a few inches as the realization that the book was empty hit her. The instant her arm began to sag, I launched myself at her.

  She reacted faster than I could have imagined, closing the book with a snap and hurling it at me before I had covered half the distance. I barely registered the blow as it glanced off my raised forearm. I hurtled my body against her. My hands clutching and clawing at her gun until my fingers found purchase, and I peeled the weapon away from her, flinging it across the room. My attack was vicious but amateurish. Slamming into her left me off balance, and she retaliated before the gun hit the floor.

  Her grip seized my wrist like a bear trap. She pivoted, twisted my arm, and somehow sent me flying head over heels. Air burst from my lungs, driven by the impact of landing on my back. Ignoring the pain, I rolled to my feet, narrowly avoiding a vicious stomp and gasping for breath. This woman meant business.

  I backed away, stumbling over the debris on the floor, trying to put some distance between us. A smile crept across her lips as she advanced, matching me step for step. In a blur, her leg arced out, crashing into my right thigh with a loud snap. Pain exploded in my leg and I staggered, but I remained standing. She followed with a feigned attack to my left side only to deliver another kick to the same spot on my thigh. This time my leg buckled. I threw my hands up in defense as I toppled over, but her fists found every gap in my desperate defense. Her blows rained down on me with surgical precision. She was in total control and picking me apart piece by piece. I had to do something fast.

  Ignoring her blows, I went on the offensive. I grabbed her arm, wrenching it down and outward hard enough to pop her shoulder. She let out a squeal of pain and I bucked my hips, shoving her off of me. She fell backwards but rolled to her feet, clutching her injured shoulder, already working it in a windmill fashion.

  Scrambling to my feet, I backed away from her, limping on my bruised leg, angling for the kitchen and the back door. Once again she advanced, pursuing me relentlessly until we were in the center of the kitchen, both of us panting.

  She launched another attack, her first punch sailing over my head and leaving me with an opening. Rising, I threw an uppercut at her exposed jaw, but she recovered before it could connect, sidestepping the punch with ease. I followed up with a jab and she side-ducked, countering with a blow to my ribs before grabbing my arm and sending me flying through the air to land on my back again.

  She took the fight to the ground, straddling me before I could recover. Finally, a mistake. I had a massive advantage in both size and strength in a grappling situation. I seized her by the back of her shirt and peeled her off of me with one hand, her arms and legs flailing. She grunted and strained, trying to escape and regain her previous dominance. I forced her to the ground and rolled over on top of her, pinning her arms with my knees.

  "It's about time you let me on top," I said, managing a feeble wink while panting.

  Her eyes rolled, and in one movement she twisted her hips and kicked her legs, flipping me over her head and rolling to straddle me in a perfect reversal. "If you want t
o be on top, you'll have to earn it," she said, returning the wink.

  I smiled. "I'm ok with that."

  Just as she opened her mouth to retort, I summoned all of my strength and what little formal fight training I had. I managed to once again reverse the situation, but just as I thought I had won, she kicked her legs and managed to shove me off of her.

  She jumped to her feet, somehow still between me and the kitchen door. But this time she didn't attack. She circled me and backed up towards the living room. The kitchen door was nearby, a few more steps and I could make a run for it. But something wasn't right. She had tried so hard to stop me. Why stop now? Unless.

  I thrust my hand into my back pocket but found nothing. My eyes snapped to the woman slowly backing away. Clutched in her hand was Dr. Blatt's envelope.

  She noticed my gesture and held up the envelope, "Looking for something?"

  "You know I can't let you leave with that," I said, taking a step towards her.

  She knelt down and snatched up her pistol from the mess on the floor. "You can stop right there. Move back into the corner."

  I froze. Fifteen feet separated us, too far to attempt disarming her again. Seeing no other choice, I slowly backed into the far corner of the kitchen.

  "Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Hawkins, I have a treasure to find. If I was you, I'd scurry on back to that little sailboat of yours," she said.

  My jaw dropped. "How do you know my name?"

  "A gentleman never asks. A lady never tells. This was fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime," she said, favoring me with a seductive smile.

  "Could you at least tell me your name?" I asked, as she reached the back door.

  She opened the door, and for a moment I thought she would vanish without telling me. "It's Jaye Mercury."

  "I'll be looking for you, Jaye Mercury," I answered.

  "I'm sure you will," She said confidently, and then as an afterthought added, "Oh! I wouldn't stick around too long if I were you. That gunshot will bring those army goons back any moment."