Golden Legacy

by Robert James Glider

  “I guess lunch is more important than a taxi fare.”

  Jac holstered the knife. He had a long swim ahead and couldn’t carry any extra baggage, so he took off and dropped his shirt and shoes, took a breath, and started to swim. Then he heard the whining sound of a motor and stopped.

  A boat coming from the direction the missile was speeding toward him.

  It was James coming to finish the job.

  Mandrago picked up an H & K automatic, snapped in a clip, cocked a round into the chamber, and moved the safety to the lock position. He pulled the stock of the gun into his side. “This is how to hold it when firing.” He pointed at the safety lever and showed them the off position. Then he showed them the clip and snapped it back in. “This is how to load.” He pulled the weapon back into the firing position and pointed with his finger. “This is the trigger.” And he pulled it. When it fired a burst, he pushed back the safety lever to the off position, and said, “That’s all you need to know, except, most importantly, please don’t shoot each other. Always point the gun toward the bad guys. And remember to push the safety lever to the on position before you fire. Any questions?” He handed each of the woman a gun of her own.

  Chauncey stepped forward. “Please don’t shoot my son. Let me try to reason with him.” Tears rolled down her face.

  “None of us wants to shoot anyone,” Abigail said. “We want to rescue our men. But if we are being shot at, we will defend ourselves.”

  “Let’s get to it,” Mandrago said. He put the strap through his arm so he could carry the weapon over his shoulder, and he told the women to practice. He watched as each of the women did what he had showed them. When he was satisfied they knew what to do, he said, “Okay, ladies, let’s go find my boys.”

  He started the engine.

  Hazy clouds had moved in causing the sun to cast an eerie grey glow across the water. Jac felt an agonizing burn from the cramps that were tying knots in his calves. The high-pitched sound of an engine at full throttle was getting closer. He reckoned it was about a mile away and closing at the rate of a hundred fifty yards a minute. He’d have to wait underwater long enough for the boat to pass him. He looked at the second hand on his watch and waited. Thirty seconds passed. He hyperventilated and sucked in, holding the last breath. Then he dove under the water, heading quickly for the bottom where he equalized the pressure in his ears by swallowing. His lungs had expanded during the swim. He figured it gave him about three and half minutes. He hoped all those days of running and swimming laps were about to pay off.

  The long sea grass would provide him cover if he could find something to hold onto. As long as the boat didn’t linger, he had a plan. He checked his dive watch. He would let out a bit of air every thirty seconds to ease the strain on his lungs. At two and a half minutes, his breath would seriously begin to give out. He would start ascending and take at least thirty seconds to come up under the hull if the boat stopped near him. If the boat kept going he would come up in its wake, get a lung full of air, and duck under again.

  Jac hunkered deep into the sea grass while keeping his eyes fixed on the surface above. He swallowed the small amount of air in his mouth to equalize again the pressure building in his ears. He reckoned the depth was about twenty-five feet. He compensated for his body’s natural buoyancy by pushing his hands upward, a sort of reverse treading water. It would exact a price. The exertion would decrease the time he could hold his breath by at least thirty seconds. He looked around and spotted a small coral head jutting above the sea grass ten feet away. He gently kicked his feet and reached out. Several multicolored fish scurried off thinking Jac was a large predator. Jac took hold of the coral with both hands and relaxed. A few moments later the fish returned. As long as Jac was still, they swam around him comfortably.

  He knew the boat was almost upon him from the sound of the engine. He checked his watch. It showed he was five seconds past two minutes. He felt strain on his lungs but knew he could hold out another minute and a half if necessary. The tremor began to fade, becoming more distant by the second. He let go of his hold on the coral, leaving the fish to think he was another fish moving on. In ten seconds he would break the surface. He looked up as he ascended but couldn’t see anything resembling a hull near the surface. He hoped they had not just pulled back the throttle to idle and were searching the area looking for him. He checked around three hundred and sixty degrees and didn’t see a hull. He slowly expelled the air in his lungs on the way to the surface. Rather than stick his head up, he lay on his back. When his face cleared the surface, he sucked in a deep breath and blinked his eyes several times to clear his vision. The sound of the motor was distant. It was still moving away. He watched as the boat turned toward the island where Peri and Michael’s chute had disappeared. Then the motor sound stopped. The operator cut the engine and glided the boat into the still waters of the island’s lagoon.

  James must think one of us went up in flames when the rocket disintegrated the flying rig, Jac thought. But he doesn’t know which one. He just knows there are two left to chase down. Jac felt invisible again. He could search for Peri and Michael without being hunted. He could hunt the hunters. But he desperately needed a weapon. And he had to find one quickly if he was to have a chance to save his friends.

  He had the advantage now. The boat couldn’t see him coming. The lagoon was surrounded by tree and plant cover that hid the boat’s view of the open water. Jac swam like he was in a race and covered the distance in eight minutes. He stopped to catch his breath before smoothly breast stroking into the mouth of the inlet. He glided to a stop next to two floating coconuts. Coconuts are buoyant. They fall off coconut palm trees overhanging the water and float out to sea. At a distance, Jac’s head would look, to anyone looking out from the boat or the beach, like a third coconut bobbing in the water from. Jac bobbed up and down in the water while watching for movement on the boat.

  And there was movement on the trawler like boat. Two anchors were dropped, one forward and one aft. Then Jac watched as two men pushed a large Zodiac boat over the starboard side. Another man, whom Jac recognized as Mulee from the bandage on his arm, tossed several weapons into the midsection of the rubber boat. Remy and James followed and sat in the front. Mulee and four men jumped on board as one of them started the engine and eased around the back of the boat before making a hard turn toward the beach. Jac had observed eight men in all, and only seven got into the boat that was headed to the island. One man had been left on board. Okay, Jac thought, the one on board has my weapon.

  The boat was lying perpendicular to the beach, making it possible for Jac to approach from the starboard side. He could be seen only if the man on board was looking outward at the mouth of the inlet instead of toward the beach. The fact that no wind was blowing presented another problem; the water was like glass. If Jac swam on the surface, he would create ripples that could be seen from either the boat or the beach. Jac reckoned the distance to the hull of the boat was about one hundred fifty yards. He decided his best course. He could easily swim seventy-five yards under water and surface to fill his lungs. Then he could complete the next seventy-five and surface at the side of the boat.

  Jac looked up to the sky and said a prayer. He sucked in a deep breath, blew it out, pulled in a second one, and held it.

  Minutes later he was at the hull hovering roughly amidships listening to ascertain the location of the man on board. Then a deep voice yelled out in a clipped Jamaican dialect. A moment later, the remark was answered by another man on the beach. Although Jac couldn’t understand what was being said, he guessed the man on the boat was standing at the rail on the port side of the boat opposite from where he was.

  As the voices became clearer, Jac heard the man on the beach say to the man on the boat that neither of them would be in on the kill of the two men who had escaped to the island.

  It was time to move. Jac couldn’t use the ladder. It was on the
port side, and climbing up the anchor chains would expose him to the beach. He moved down the length of the boat looking for something that he could grip to help him climb aboard. He saw it halfway to the stern. There was an opening on the deck where the railing had been removed. Two ropes hung down the side of the boat almost to the water. The ropes must have held the Zodiac in place. And the railing had been removed to allow the rubber boat to fall easily over the side.

  Jac snagged one of the ropes and pulled out the slack until it was taut. He used his arm strength to climb up to the top of the opening. He grabbed the bottom of the deck barrier with one hand and let go of the rope. He clasped both hands around a bottom rail and hung, listening.

  Jac needed the element of surprise for an encounter with the man onboard. And he had to remain hidden from the man on shore or his cover would be blown.

  The man on the boat yelled to the man on the shore. Again, Jac couldn’t make out the words, but whatever was said ended with both men laughing.

  His muscles straining, Jac pulled himself up as if he was on a chinning bar and peeked through an opening at the bottom of the deck railing. He saw the man onboard standing at the port side railing looking toward shore. The man wore a bright blue shirt.

  The boat was over fifty feet in length. The man was at least thirty feet away.

  “Dat was a good shot mon! You blew that chute out of da sky,” the man on the beach yelled. “We gonna get da other two.”

  “Ya mon,” the man on the boat responded.

  My chute, you son of a bitch! Okay, Jac thought as he took a deep breath.

  Blue Shirt didn’t have a gun, but he wore a large knife hanging at his side in a thigh-length scabbard. Blue Shirt sat down on a box near the railing, lit a cigar, and watched toward shore where the landing party was now busy preparing for the chase.

  Jac needed cover to wait. He saw the wheelhouse ten feet away and inched his way along the railing until he was behind the structure. He took in a breath, pulled himself up like a swimmer exiting from a swimming pool, and scaled the railing. He moved along the wall of the wheelhouse and peeked out. Blue Shirt hadn’t moved.

  Jac pulled out his survival knife. He had a choice. He could sneak up behind Blue Shirt and finish him. The risk was that the maneuver could expose Jac to the men on the beach. Or, he could draw Blue Shirt to him behind the wheelhouse where no one on the beach would be able to see. The second option had a huge drawback: Jac would lose the element of surprise. Blue Shirt would be on guard and most likely draw the big knife. He would be ready to fight.

  Jac made his decision as he crawled slowly across the deck. He had to take Blue Shirt out without being seen from the beach. This guy is big, Jack observed. Must be about six foot four. Jac crouched low five feet behind the man. These guys are killers. I will take no prisoners. Jac glanced over at the beach. Everyone on the beach either had his back turned or was busy loading his weapon. No one was looking toward the boat.

  “Over here! I found the chutes!” one of the men on the beach yelled.

  It was the opportunity Jac needed. Everyone would be busy for a few minutes.

  With his right arm, Jac reached up and grabbed Blue Shirt around the neck. With his left hand he covered Blue Shirt’s mouth. Blue Shirt reacted quickly and twisted away. Jac was off balance and fell to the side. Blue Shirt stood up, pulled his knife from the scabbard, and ran toward Jac. Jac rolled away and jumped to his feet. Blue Shirt stopped. Both men started to circle and jab at each other while looking for an opening.

  “You are soon dead, mon!”

  “I’m already dead. You shot me from the sky,” Jac said. He stared into Blue Shirt’s eyes and detected a twitch on his face. Instantly, Jac reacted to the sign and stepped in and away. He did a hundred eighty degree turn and plunged his knife into Blue Shirt’s back between the shoulder blades. Jac blocked the scream with his other hand over Blue Shirt’s mouth and pulled his limp body backward to the deck. Jac pulled his knife from Blue Shirt’s back while looking toward the beach through the deck railing. Jac thought that surely the scuffle had been seen. But it had happened quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no sign of alarm on the beach. He crawled behind the main cabin wall to plan his next move.

  When he looked out, he saw James, Remy, and Mulee in an animated conversation with three of their men. The fourth man stood by the Zodiac. Jac thought it strange. Something was missing. Then it hit him. Where’s Kincaid? He wasn’t on the boat or the Zodiac. He watched as James turned the conversation toward Mulee, said a few words, and disappeared into the foliage. One by one, the men followed, all except for the one man near the beach who had been conversing with Blue Shirt. Jac was worried the man on the beach would call out again to his friend on the boat. He had to move fast.

  Jac watched the man on the beach struggle to pull the Zodiac out of the water. He finally managed to drag it over a sand berm to a ridge of flat, dry sand. Looking exhausted, he sat down facing the path his partners had taken and cradled his automatic weapon across his legs. A moment later, he reached into a shirt pocket, took out a cigar, and sniffed it for a moment, savoring its aroma. He took a lighter from his pants pocket, lit the cigar, and drew in a puff. As he blew it out, his eyes scanned the beach then looked out toward the boat. Jac ducked to the deck and continued to watch. The man got up and stared toward the boat for several seconds before setting his weapon down on the Zodiac and stretching his arms high over his head. Then he picked up the weapon and moved to the forward edge of the beached Zodiac where he sat and puffed on his cigar. Apparently feeling secure that no one would attack from the water, he focused his attention on the jungle in front of him.

  “I’ve … had … it! You go on … I’m exhausted,” Peri said while trying to catch his breath. He bent over with his hands on his knees. Sweat blistered from the pores on his face. Behind him and close by, he heard voices. Their pursuers were almost upon them.

  “We have to keep climbing, Uncle,” Michael encouraged. “They have guns. We must go, now. Come on! You can do it. Only a little farther and we’ll be over the top.”

  A passing shower had made climbing difficult.

  Peri looked up at Michael with a weak smile on his face. “I’ll try.” He felt sure Jac was trying to get to them. Jac couldn’t die that easily. And somewhere on the downhill side Mandrago was coming. Peri grimaced as he dug his foot into the rain-soaked dirt.

  The man on the beach will eventually call out to the boat to talk to his friend, reasoned Jac. I have to take him out before that happens. I must find a weapon. Jac jumped down the stairs that led below deck and quickly combed through the hold and tore through the cabins. No weapons, but he did find two small bricks of C-4 plastic explosive material, three sticks of dynamite, and a twenty-five-foot roll of fuse. He also found a pair of swimming goggles in a drawer. He put them in his pocket, thinking, these will come in handy.

  Jac cut a piece of the fuse with his knife. The powder core inside the fuse was very thick. He supposed it was cordite. I hope it will burn slowly, he thought. He opened another drawer and found a barbecue lighter. He pressed the lighter button, and a small flame popped out of the end. Then he cut off about an inch from the end of the fuse. Jac had read somewhere that a cordite fuse will burn smokeless. He looked at the Seal team diver watch on his wrist and waited for the second hand to move to a second before the big numeral six. He then lit the small fuse. It crackled and began its slow burn before fizzling out. Jac calculated the number of inches in twenty-five feet and multiplied that by how long an inch of the small fuse burned to the end.

  Jac had handled plastic explosives while in Iraq. But even with experience, his hands shook as he placed the plastic around the structure below the deck. He pulled out the remainder of the twenty-five feet of fuse and pressed the end deep into the plastic. Then he placed the dynamite sticks on a shelf just below the plastic he’d molded around the hull.
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  “Now to get to the beach before the explosion,” he said aloud. Intuition told him that Peri and Michael were still alive. There had been no shots fired, and they had a significant head start on James. They should be near the top of the hill by now.

  Jac sucked in a deep breath and let it out. It’s time to get this show on the road. He quickly went over the plan, rechecking the math in his head. He factored in a ten percent negative and arrived at a best guess—he’d have about fifteen minutes to get to the beach before the explosion. If all went as planned, the explosion would give him the element of surprise he needed to take out the man on the beach.

  He pressed the button on the lighter and put the flame to the fuse. The powder inside the fuse fizzled as it started its journey to create nothingness. Jac quickly climbed the stairs to the deck and peered out toward the islet. The guard was still sitting in the same place puffing on his cigar. Jac crouched down next to the railing and began to hyperventilate. He eased over the rail into the water, put on the goggles he’d found, and took three deep breaths. He held the fourth breath and ducked below the surface. With his legs bent, he pushed off the hull toward the shore. During Special Forces training he could easily swim seventy-five yards under water. But now he would have to stretch the distance to about ninety. His heartbeat increased when he observed several fish near the bottom being pursued by a small shark.

  Next to shore, the depth decreased as the bottom sloped upward at a gentle angle. Jac swam up the rise. He groped his way along the bottom until he was able to kneel. Starbursts appeared in his vision. His lungs were about to burst. He expelled his air and broke the surface looking toward the man on the beach. Jac was too low to see him over the sand. He sucked in several deep breaths to calm himself. He was five feet from the water’s edge.