Unlawful Chase

by C J Schnier

  "What is it?" Jaye asked from the helm.

  "If I was a betting man, I'd say it was Bardales. How far from international water are we?"

  "We have nine miles to go."

  I looked back at the speeding patrol boat. It had cut the distance in half already. There was no way we were going to make it to safe water. We had risked everything on a desperate gamble, and it had failed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  We watched the drab gray boat bounce and leap over the small waves on its path straight towards us. A massive gun sat mounted to a swivel on the bow, its operator keeping it pointed at Paramour. My boat was racing south as fast as she could, with all her sails flying. I knew there was no way we were going to make it to the international border, but I didn't want to give up and wait for whatever was to come. If the Cuban military was going to catch me, I would not hand myself over without at least trying to make it a little harder.

  The difference in speed proved too great, however. Less than five minutes after spotting the military craft, they had overtaken us. The boat made a tight circle, coming up alongside us, and slowed down to match our speed. They held their position roughly one hundred feet off of our port side. We were still over an hour's sail from escaping Cuban waters. If I could keep us underway and keep the soldiers talking, we could cross the border without them realizing. It was a long shot, but it was all I could think of.

  I kept Paramour on the same course and speed. I'd been stopped by law enforcement enough to know the drill. You didn't do anything until they told you to. The powerboat's gunner glared at us from behind the sights of his weapon. He kept it trained on us while the boat angled in closer, closing the distance to twenty feet. No commands came from the boat and nobody shouted at us. Instead, the boat continued to inch closer, until the only sounds were rushing water and the low thrum of their diesel engine exhaust.

  "What now, hotshot?" Jaye asked, eyes fixed on the barrel of the deck gun.

  "I'm open to suggestions, I'm making this up as I go," I replied.

  "That's not very comforting," she hissed.

  "Let me do the talking, I've got a way with authority figures."

  "Sure you do," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Just don't get us killed."

  "No promises," I said with a placating shrug.

  As the boat drew closer, I reconsidered keeping the boat moving and turned up into the wind and let the lines loose so the sails would stop catching air and luff, effectively stopping our momentum. There was no way we could make it. The patrol boat shadowed us, holding their distance.

  On the patrol boat, a small cabin serving as a shield against the wind and water stood proudly behind the colossal gun on the bow. The rest of the boat crew, besides the gunner, huddled inside. Through the cabin's large windows I counted four more soldiers, one of which wore an officer's uniform. It was this officer that stepped out from the shelter of the cabin to address us once the boat was within inches of Paramour.

  A bank of medals laid in overlapping layered rows like scale armor. On his shoulders he wore garish gold epaulettes that flickered in the sunlight. The officer's silver-gray hair and his full, but manicured, white beard seemed to glow, taking on a radiance of their own in the bright morning light. An unlit cigar sat perched between his fingers as he put his hands on the gunwale of the patrol boat and leaned forward in a manner that, somehow, was as casual as it was intimidating. There was no mistake, this was the same man I had seen in the village. General Bardales himself.

  "Good morning," Bardales said in perfect English. His tone was genteel, disarming in its politeness.

  Jaye glanced at me, but remained completely silent and still. I could see her tense and coiled, ready to pounce or flee. Her apprehension was obvious, and I stepped between her and the general, trying to offer some sort of token reassurance.

  "Uh, buenos dias," I said with a faltering wave.

  "Now, now, no need to fumble through Spanish on my account," Bardales mewled, his words dripping from his lips like warm honey.

  "Thanks, I guess." His politeness was unexpected and off-putting. If he was here for the idol, why was he being so nice? "What can we do for you, sir?"

  "You see, I had reports of some grave robbers trying to flee the country by boat with stolen artifacts. You haven't seen anybody suspicious out here, have you?"

  "Uh," I hesitated, deciding to play dumb. "No, we haven't seen anyone out here except you. We'd be more than happy to help if we can. Did your report have any specific information?"

  "How nice of you to offer your assistance. My report did have some information in it. Let me see," he said, moving one arm back towards the open cabin where a subordinate placed a sheet of paper in his hand. Bringing the paper up to his eyes, he continued. "Oh yes. We're looking for a man and a woman. Man: white, long brown hair. Woman: brown, possibly mixed race. Curly black hair. They were last seen leaving Boca Sucia on a two-masted sailboat."

  Bardales looked up from the paper and stared at me from behind a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses. "You haven't seen anyone like that out here, have you?" He asked.

  "White guy with long hair, pretty tan girl, nice sailboat? Nope, not ringing any bells," I said, "but I'll be sure to give ya'll a call if I see them."

  Bardales smiled, "That's very cute Mr. Hawkins, but I'm afraid you and Ms. Mercury here are under arrest."

  "Well shit, for a moment there I thought we might get out of here," I said with a forced chuckle.

  As if waiting on her cue, Jaye took this last moment of brevity and unleashed all the coiled up tension she had held since spotting the patrol boat. In one fluid cat-like movement, she leapt from the cockpit of Paramour to the deck of the powerboat. Her sudden explosion of movement was made more impressive by the fact that she had to twist and turn gracefully to clear the lifelines and bimini framework.

  Before I realized what she was doing, she had landed lightly on her feet and redirected her movement towards Bardales. With the fluid ease of a gymnast, she launched herself, arms outstretched, for the officer's throat. Bardales, however, stood his ground and unleashed a massive backhand blow, catching Jaye in the side of the head. The blow sent her crashing into the cabin wall of the patrol boat. She slid down the wall, collapsing in a heap on the deck where she laid stunned and unmoving.

  Two men rushed out of the cabin with their weapons drawn. One aimed at me, the other keeping his gun trained on the groaning woman crumpled on the deck. I threw my hands up in the air, the universal gesture of surrender. "I'm not with her," I blurted out.

  Bardales regarded me for a moment before motioning toward Jaye and barking some commands at his men. One of the men slung his rifle around behind him and stooped to grab Jaye by the arm. He wrestled her aft to the open area on the stern before shoving her back down to the deck and tying her hands behind her.

  "Now, Mr. Hawkins, I take it we aren't going to have any such heroics from you now, are we?" Bardales asked.

  "Nah," I replied. "Heroics aren't my style."

  "That's good to hear. Now, where is the idol?"

  "If I tell you, will you let me go?"

  "Hey! What about me, Chase?" Jaye croaked through her pain from the stern of the patrol boat.

  "How about this? If you don't tell me, I will kill you both now and take it, anyway."

  I flicked my head sideways towards the cabin. "Down there. Wrapped in a towel."

  The general issued another command, and the man who had been manning the machine gun left his post. He unslung his rifle from his back and crossed from the patrol boat to Paramour, never taking his eyes off me. He made his way down below and a few moments later returned topside, cradling the idol in his arms like a baby. The man offered it to Bardales, who took it, holding it with both hands.

  "Ahh, here it is," the general said with hushed reverence. He spat out another set of orders in Spanish and the soldier turned, grabbed me, and shoved me to the deck. Within seconds he had my hands tied behind my back.


  "What the hell, Bardales? You've got what you want. You won. Let us go."

  "I'm afraid not, Mr. Hawkins. I can't let grave robbers such as yourselves go unpunished. It sets a bad example for my men. Besides, I need to send a message to you and your girlfriend's employer, Adrian Pruitt."

  "Wait! You've got it all wrong," I said, my voice sounding strange as it bounced off the deck. "We're not working together. We're not even friends. Hell, she threw me off a cliff."

  Bardales snorted. "She threw you off a cliff? That is most amusing. It must be quite the story to hear how you two ended up as two sides to the same coin."

  "You've got it all wrong, man," I replied.

  "You really don't know? Well, a little birdie told me Adrian Pruitt hired both of you. But, I was under the impression you two were working together," he said, pacing around the deck of the patrol boat. I couldn't help but follow the stub of his unlit cigar as he waved his arms about with exaggerated gestures as he spoke. "Pruitt has been a pain in my side for years. A major part of my job is stopping his plundering of my cultural heritage. I knew he would send someone after the idol, but I never expected two completely separate agents. It appears he is now hedging his bets."

  Bardales stopped pacing as if he had an epiphany.

  "This explains the plane. I wondered why it was disabled. If you had taken it, at least one of you two would be getting paid by now. Instead, you opted to try and escape by the slowest means possible."

  "Faster than a makeshift raft which seems to get past your military often enough. I figured that with such an incompetent navy, a sailboat would get us out of the country just fine," I said, glaring at the general.

  He snapped his head in my direction. A wave of anger passed over his face, replaced by cold malice. He spat out something in Spanish and the soldier guarding me jerked me to my feet and spun me to look Bardales in the eyes. He was stiff and still, waiting with obvious loathing until I was focused on his face. "Our military is far from incompetent, Mr. Hawkins. I was planning to kill you two. Instead, I will extend the hospitality of a Cuban prison. After I'm done torturing you, of course."

  "Of course," I echoed. "Are you sure you don't want to go ahead and just kill us?"

  "Shut the fuck up, Chase!" Jaye shouted.

  Ignoring her, I continued, addressing General Bardales, "I mean putting us in prison seems like an awful lot of paperwork. Or you could take the idol and let us go? I mean, you've already won. You even got an airplane in the deal too. And what would be better, having Pruitt assume we're dead, or having us coming back empty-handed with our tails tucked between our legs like beaten dogs?"

  Bardales raised his eyebrows at the suggestion, but did not reply right away. Behind his gold-rimmed sunglasses, I could see his eyes twitching as he worked through all the possible scenarios. I hoped humility would be enough of an enticement to let us go.

  The seconds ticked by like hours until he finally spoke. "Mr. Hawkins, you are correct. To put you in prison would entail much paperwork. And killing you could prove difficult. We don't want your government snooping around anymore than they already do. But I cannot let two grave robbers, and... What is the term you Americans like so much? Oh yes, I remember now, illegal aliens. I cannot allow two illegal aliens, trespassers in my country, to go unpunished."

  "Actually, the term we use now is 'undocumented immigrants,' 'illegal aliens' being too offensive or something. I don't know. I'm not sure why they changed it. And, if we're being honest, we don't fit that definition, anyway. We were only visiting. We were on our way out. It's not like we were planning to stay..."

  "Silence!" Bardales roared, cutting me off. The guard's rifle butt connected with my kidney a half a second later, and dropped me to my knees, pain racing through my body.

  One of these days I'm going to learn to keep my mouth shut.

  Jaye hung her head in embarrassed defeat and shook it back and forth in disbelief. She was muttering something under her breath. Probably cursing me for being the idiot I am. That was OK, my makeshift plan was working. At least I hoped it was. If he didn't kill us outright, it was a win in my book.

  The silver haired general turned to one of his men, whispered some words and went back into the cabin of the patrol boat. A moment later there was a flurry of words and before I knew what was happening I was being manhandled off of Paramour and onto the patrol boat. They dragged me to the stern, where Jaye and I were both forced to our knees.

  "Way to go, slick," she said.

  "Silencio!" Commanded one of the soldiers. "No hablar."

  Doing my best to ignore the soldier and the weapon he had pointed at us, I turned my attention towards Paramour, which was now starting to drift away from us. Her sails were up, flapping noisily in the breeze. She looked forlorn and shabby bobbing on the waves.

  Moments later the engines of the patrol boat spooled up, and it headed towards shore, picking up speed with each passing second. Craning my neck around, I watched my boat and home shrink into the distance, unsure if I would ever see her again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Cuban patrol boat covered the distance back to Boca Sucia in less than a quarter of the time it had taken Paramour. The soldiers had all remained stiff and alert, in that manner only military training could instill. One man drove the boat, while another manned the deck gun on the bow. The third kept vigilance over Jaye and me. They all had a job, except the last soldier who remained behind Bardales' shoulder like a dog waiting on a treat from its master. I assumed he must have been the normal commander of the vessel.

  Bardales never turned to address us, but his body language was easy enough to read. Rigid and focused, he was obviously forcing himself to appear stoic and in control. I needed to know my enemy and regretted, not for the first time since meeting him, that I hadn't been able to read a dossier on the man.

  He was used to power, anyone could tell that. His knowledge of Pruitt, along with the behavior of the soldiers, was enough to tell me that being within his sphere was dangerous. Both in the village and on the patrol boat I had seen his subordinates jump at his every command. But what I had not seen from any of the soldiers was any initiative. Bardales' fear based leadership was his weakness. His men were afraid to act on their own and bring the wrath of his displeasure down on them. That was good. Without explicit orders, they would hesitate. That was something I could work with.

  A pair of military trucks were waiting for us at the marina when we arrived. Leading them was the odd Jeep-like vehicle that seemed to act as the general's transport. As soon as the boat hit the dock, the soldiers shuffled both of us over the side. They ushered us up the shiny new ramp towards half a dozen waiting troops who, along with the men from the boat, made a loose circle around us.

  The general followed behind us and addressed his men when he reached the top of the ramp. Again, he spoke so fast my mediocre Spanish skills were not up to interpreting. After his brief monologue, he turned and strode towards his vehicle, where a waiting soldier held an open door for him.

  As soon as Bardales was seated, the rest of the soldiers split into two groups. One latched on to Jaye's arm and pulled her towards the lead truck. Another dragged me to the rear one. I opened my mouth to protest, and a fist connected with my jaw. My head snapped sideways and my vision clouded. I shook the ringing from my ears and spat. The metallic taste of blood was already seeping through my mouth, and I tongued a cut on the inside of my cheek. I didn't talk again and offered no resistance to the soldiers who loaded me into the back of the truck.

  One soldier, a little older than the others, climbed in after me and pointed toward the front of the truck bed. Hoping to avoid another smack, I took the hint and sat as close to the cab as possible. Two other men climbed up into the bed with me and took their seats, each eying me with suspicion.

  Moments later, the trucks began to roll, bouncing and jerking their way down the gravel lot onto the rutted dirt road leading towards the village. The air in the back of the truck was
stifling. Its dark canvas cover offered shade and cave-like darkness. But it came at the cost of increased temperatures and a sense of claustrophobia. The tight confines were made worse by the foul stench of body odor emanating from the three soldiers.

  Trying not to focus on the heat or the smell, I gazed out of the opening at the back. Trees and bushes slid by in a never ending procession of tropical greenery. My eyes were glazing over from the repetition when the landscape changed. Instead of bushes and trees, it opened up into a large swath of tall grass. The airfield, I realized.

  Seconds later I could make out Jaye's green and white plane, still grounded and lined up for a quick getaway that would never come. A pang of guilt shot through me. Was she looking at her plane, watching it slip farther behind us now? Was she feeling the same sense of loss and helplessness I had felt when I watched Paramour do the same less than a half hour earlier?

  The truck lurched to the left as it barreled around a bend in the road and the airfield disappeared. The view from the back of the truck returned to two walls of green separated by tan dirt. I suspected it would stay that way until we made it to the village.

  I forced myself to think. I had to devise a way out of this mess. The soldiers had stopped staring at me like a ticking time bomb. They chatted quietly amongst themselves, only occasionally looking over at me.

  OK Chase, first things first. "You need to get your hands free," I thought to myself. At first glance there wasn't much of use. The metal bed was stark and empty. The truck was old, and even in the low light I could see large splotches where rust had eaten away at the bed and the framework that held the canvas cover. One of the worst spots was near me. The rust had eaten halfway around a weld where the square tubing met the back of the truck cab, leaving a jagged edge right up against the cab, nearly out of sight. If I could reposition myself, maybe I could use it to cut myself free.