The Watchman of Ephraim (Book Club Edition)

by Gerard de Marigny

  It turned out that De Niro didn’t actually own a yacht when he made him the offer, but that only made his offer sweeter because, as part of the deal, he let Admiral Golden design the yacht for him. Golden spent the next two years flying back and forth to Holland checking on their progress. When she was finished, De Niro and his two sons flew there with Golden, to accompany him on the vessel’s maiden voyage back to her new home port in Newport Beach, California. De Niro christened his new 138-foot yacht, Santana, naming her after the sail yacht of one of his favorite actors, Humphrey Bogart.

  When she was completed, Santana was considered a marvel of engineering and beauty, powered by twin Paxman main engines, producing a combined horsepower of 10,870 and a TF80 Lycoming turbine providing an additional 9,200 hp. Her power plant allows her to attain a top speed of 70 knots, a cruise speed of 38 knots, and a maximum range of 3,800 nautical miles and Golden made sure that Santana’s interior was as impressive as her engine room. Inside the magnificent vessel lies a spacious grand salon, formal dining room, fully equipped country kitchen, a master’s sitting room, and sumptuous master suite on the main deck … a magnificent V.I.P. suite, a luxurious double guest suite, two roomy twin guest suites, crew quarters, engine room, and utility room on the lower deck … and a spectacular sky lounge and enclosed pilot house with private captain’s quarters on the upper deck. De Niro added the final touch with the addition of a Eurocopter EC 135 helicopter, though Golden had little use for the chopper, preferring the sea to the air. All in all, Santana was Admiral … now Captain Golden’s dream-come-true.

  Santana made good time to waters just north of Acapulco, considering that they left San Diego Bay later than expected – the delay caused by David Nicholls’ insistence to ferry the two ladies he met in the restaurant, to their homes near Imperial Beach. The rest of their journey went smoothly with Nicholls playing the part of proper British host to the four other men.

  Captain Golden liked all of his guests aboard Santana, including the precocious but eccentric Mr. Nicholls. From the moment the other four men came aboard though, he could tell that they all had extensive military backgrounds and they could tell that he did too. He didn’t ask them about the “curious luggage,” as Nicholls called it, that they brought aboard. Nevertheless he could tell that it wasn’t fishing equipment and despite Nicholls’ best tries, the four didn’t utter a word about the reason for the trip. They just spent their time soaking up rays, eating and drinking well and laughing at all of Mr. Nicholls jokes, but Golden could see that the trip was about to take on a much more serious tone. That was because two blips had just appeared on his radar. Someone was approaching them at high speed from the south.

  Captain Golden sent one of his crew to fetch Charley Santappia. It was just after 1a.m. but he and all of his men were awake and busy loading the chopper. Nicholls had fallen asleep in the Sky Lounge with a bottle of Macallan single-malt scotch whiskey still in his hand.

  Santappia entered the Pilot House dressed in all black. His vest and pants were covered with utility pockets and he was wearing a utility belt to match. On his feet, he wore black military-spec boots and he had a black balaclava rolled up into a hat covering his head. There was a small microphone extending from a headset next to his mouth and his face was blacked out all around his eyes and cheeks. Golden also noticed a holster hanging from his belt with what looked like an M-45 MEUSOC14 pistol inside it. Earlier, when he was on the deck, Golden noticed that the other men were dressed exactly as Santappia was now. It was obvious to the Captain that these men had not come down to vacation, but now Golden was sure that their trip was some kind of paramilitary operation.

  Santappia stepped up to Captain Golden who was looking through binoculars.

  “Trouble Captain?”

  “We have two bogey’s approaching at high speed from the southeast bearing 3-4-0, distance … about five nautical miles and like I said, closing fast.”

  Santappia grabbed a pair of binoculars and joined the Captain looking out to the southeast, but all he saw was darkness.

  “Captain, is there any reason you can think of, why two surface vessels should be approaching us at high speeds, with lights out?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question Mr. Santappia.”

  The two men looked at each other then both looked through their binoculars again.

  “Pirates …?” asked Santappia.

  “Could be … at their present speed, they’ll be on us in about eight minutes.”

  Santappia cussed to himself.

  “Mr. Santappia—“

  “Charley, Captain, call me Charley.”

  “… and I’m Red, Charley. Don’t you think this might be a good time for you to tell me a little more about what we’re doing here? … and you better give me the condensed version.”

  Santappia’s mouth stretched into a grin.

  “Let’s just say, Red, that there’s a real chance that our bogies aren’t pirates … and whether they are or not, my friends and I can’t let them interfere with our business down here.”

  “Cut the crap, Charley. I want to know and I want to know now if this business of yours is worth dying for!”

  Santappia didn’t reply right away. Instead he took another look through his binoculars. He cussed to himself again.

  “Red, we’re down here on either a rescue mission or a body retrieval mission, depending on the state of our target.”

  “… and who is your target?”

  Santappia knew that the people that worked for Mr. De Niro were for the most part, all top notch, but then again, if Mr. De Niro wanted the Captain to know about their mission, he would have told him himself. Under the circumstances though, and bearing in mind that Captain Golden was a former Rear Admiral and a highly-decorated one at that, something he learned by running his name through Big Brother, not from the Captain, he thought he had a right to know.

  “His name is Jesus Garcia - Agent Jesus Garcia formerly of Langley, Virginia, recently hired by Mr. De Niro’s counter-terrorism agency. He was working undercover up in Monterrey when he went missing last week. We tracked him … or at least we tracked his cell phone, via GPS, to a drug farm owned by one of the most dangerous cartels, located about 140 miles due east of our position. Red, my team and I are down here to bring Garcia home, dead or alive. To us he’s worth dying for …but we have no intention on dying. Unfortunately, it looks like things might get rough and in a hurry. This wasn’t something we anticipated either.”

  Golden nodded his head.

  “Okay, thanks for telling me, Charley. Now, what do you want to do about our friends out there?”

  “Tough call, Red … no one was supposed to know we were down here, but we have reason to believe that Garcia was set up by someone inside our agency, which means—“

  “Which means our friends out there may be the cartel’s version of a welcoming committee!” David Nicholls interrupted Santappia.

  “Mr. Nicholls … we thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was sleeping old man until I felt the call of nature. I made a wrong turn into here and what did I find? The Captain and the mysterious passenger, Mr. Santappia, dressed like a ninja warrior, discussing my fate…!”

  “Mr. Nicholls, we don’t have much time,” Captain Golden replied. “I’m going to have to ask you to return to your suite and lock your door immediately.”

  “You want me to lock myself in my room while you all replay the battle at your Alamo … not on your life, Captain!”

  Riggy walked in behind Nicholls.

  “Charley, I think we got company approaching us. Sounds like speed boats but we don’t see any lights.”

  “The Captain picked up two bogies off our port bow, approaching fast. We have no idea who they are. They’ll be on us in a matter of minutes.”

  Santappia thought a moment.

  “Captain, I wouldn’t ask you to endanger your crew but would you be willing to help us?”

  “Mr. Santappia, this ve
ssel is my home and I will do anything to do defend my home. What do you need me to do?”

  Santappia nodded. He had a lot of respect for the captain.

  “Okay, order your crew into the engine room and have them lock the doors once they’re all down there… and Mr. Nicholls, you need to join them.”

  “Mr. Santappia, whatever you’re asking the Captain to do, I’d like to join him, if you don’t mind. I’m not the type that takes well to being cooped up below decks, especially while my fate is being decided up here.”

  Santappia looked at the Captain, who nodded.

  “Okay, we don’t have much time gentlemen. Captain, order you men below. Riggy, get the guys to break out those jet skis that you’ve all been eyeing… and everyone rides with their M-40’s15… and Riggy, bring me my AA-1216…”

  David Nicholls was glad he held onto the bottle of Macallan scotch he was drinking earlier, as the sounds of two Deep Impact model 360FS speed boats approached Santana and curved around both sides of her. Nicholls took a long pull from the bottle then handed it Captain Golden who did the same, as one of the boats pulled alongside while the other one continued to Santana’s stern. Nicholls and Golden counted twelve gunmen total, six on each boat. The six on the boat pulled alongside all had automatic weapons pointed at them as one shouted in broken English, “Gringos … Shut ju engines and put ju hands on ju heads!”

  Captain Golden complied by entering the pilot house and cutting the engines; then stepping back onto the deck alongside Nicholls and placing his hands on the back of his head. He noticed Nicholls had his hands behind his head but he was still clutching the bottle of scotch in one. Five of the six gunmen stepped onto Santana and circled the two men as the nastiest of the bunch stepped up to both. He finally decided from looking at them that Golden was the captain and addressed him while putting a pistol to his head.

  (In English) “Are ju the capitán?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a big boat, capitán. Where is jur crew?”

  “I sent them below when I saw you approaching.”

  The heavily tattooed leader twitched his head towards Nicholls but never took his eyes off of Golden.

  “Who is this gringo?”

  “He’s my passenger. This is a charter vessel.”

  “A charter huh … where are the rest of jur passengers, capitán?”

  David Nicholls took a step up but was pushed back by two of the men.

  “Look here good man, my name is Nicholls. I rented this boat for the week.”

  The leader turned to Nicholls.

  “Ju rented this big boat all for jurself?”

  “Well, I was expecting to go ashore in Acapulco, dear boy and invite some of your beautiful ladies back aboard—“

  Nicholls was interrupted by one of the men from the other speed boat who was shouting to the leader something in Spanish. Nicholls whispered to the Captain, “What is he saying?”

  The Captain whispered back, “He just yelled to Mr. Tattoos here that this is the Santana. Santappia was right, we were set up. Get ready Mr. Nicholls.”

  The leader ordered the other boat to come around the side then he cocked his pistol and put it to Captain Golden’s head.

  “Ju are lying to me, capitán. I ask ju once more … where are the other men ju took down here?”

  The leader barked orders in Spanish and instantly two of the men headed inside the main cabin. They were greeted by Charlie Santappia who was standing on the other side of the doors, with his automatic shotgun pointing at them. Santappia barked orders of his own into his mic, “Angel one … Take ‘em down!”

  Only one response came back.

  “Roger …”

  Almost simultaneously, shots came from all directions, the loudest and most ferocious ones were spitting out of Santappia’s AA-12. The sniper fire from Riggy, De May and Pescalitis dropped the leader and his two men standing on both sides of Nicholls and Captain Golden, while Santappia blasted large holes in the other two men.

  That left six gunmen on the one speedboat and one on the other, all of them shouting to each other in Spanish from both sides of Santana. Nicholls and Captain Golden started towards the doors of the main cabin when the leader, only wounded, rolled onto his back and started firing at both of them. Nicholls turned and threw the bottle of scotch he still had in his hand then dove for cover. The bottle hit the leader in the side of his head.

  Captain Golden peered out from the main cabin and saw the leader now lying unconscious. He turned to Nicholls, “They say fortune favors the foolish, Mr. Nicholls. Now I’m convinced it does!”

  Santappia stood at the side of one of the cabin’s doors trying to survey into the darkness. He spoke to the members of ARCHANGEL as he did.

  “Angel one … Guys, we can’t let the rest get away.”

  Again, all Santappia heard was a single calm voice, “Roger that.”

  Less than ten seconds later, three more shots rang out from their M-40’s dropping three more gunmen, all on the boat that had circled to the stern of Santana. Unable to see their adversaries, the remaining three on that boat panicked and immediately laid down their weapons, shouting in Spanish, “We give up!”

  As soon as Santappia stepped out from the cabin he saw the sole bad guy left on the other boat take off like a bat out of hell into the darkness. Santappia took aim with his AA-12 but the boat quickly motored out of his range.

  “Angel one … Angel three, one bogey took off heading in your direction.”

  “Angel three, roger…”

  A few tense moments later one shot rang out then another from Angel three’s … De May’s M-40.

  “Angel three, bogey’s down.”

  While Santappia held his shotgun pointed at them, Captain Golden helped the three Pacifico cartel members onto Santana, from their speed boat. As soon as they were on board, the Captain frisked them, and then ordered them in Spanish to sit on the deck, with their hands on their heads. One of Santana’s crew jumped aboard the speed boat and lowered its anchor while two others collected the weapons aboard it. A few minutes later, out of the darkness came the three jet skis with Riggy, De May and Pescalitis riding them, their sniper rifles slung on their backs.

  As soon as everyone was aboard, Santappia walked over to the leader who was just coming around. He was bleeding badly from a shoulder wound. Pescalitis checked the other two that were lying next to the leader.

  “They’re both dead.” Pescalitis confirmed then pointing at the leader, “Hey Riggy wasn’t this one yours?”

  Riggy’s face turned red from embarrassment, “Yeah, a wave pushed my ski just as I took my shot.”

  De May and Pescalitis grinned to tease Angel 2 but Santappia spoke up, “Better that your aim was off Rigs. Now we can get ‘Mr. Tats’ here to tell his boss that he and his hombres did their job and we’re all dead … isn’t that right hombre?”

  The leader didn’t reply.

  Pescalitis walked up to him then started waving his hand in front of his nose, “He stinks of booze!”

  “I’m afraid that’s my fault,” David Nicholls replied a bit immodestly. “You see he was shooting at me and the Captain, and I still had the bottle of that fine scotch in my hand—“

  “… and I have to thank you for that Mr. Nicholls,” Captain Golden interrupted then turned to Pescalitis and the others. “Mr. Nicholls could have had a career in baseball with the way he tossed that bottle of scotch. I mean he hit our friend here from twenty feet away … hard enough to knock him senseless and he wasn’t even pitching from the windup!”

  Pescalitis patted Nicholls on his back as Santappia handed his shotgun to Riggy. Then he took out his MPK-Ti17 and put it to the throat of the leader, as he bent down and whispered into his ear.

  “You have two choices, my friend. You can either do exactly as I tell you and get on your radio and tell your boss that you did your job and we’re all dead … or I’ll throw you overboard and let your blood attract every shark within three m
iles of here.”

  The leader spat into Santappia’s face.

  Santappia wiped the spit from his face with his sleeve. Then he lifted the leader up by his hair, dragged him to the railing and as the man spewed curses in Spanish, threw him over the side. The wounded man flopped around in the pitch-dark trying his best to keep his head above the water line.

  Santappia casually walked over to the other three men who were now all sitting in shock from hearing their leader screaming for help. He put his knife to one of the men’s throat. The man pleaded in Spanish.

  Santappia turned to the Captain.

  “What’s he saying?”

  The Captain nodded towards the man in the water.

  “He’s begging you to pull him out of the water before the sharks get him.”

  The screams from the man in the water stopped as the swells began to roll over his head. Santappia sheaved his knife and ordered De May and Pescalitis to bring the drowning man back aboard. After giving him a minute to vomit the salt water from his lungs, Santappia put his knife back to the leader’s throat.

  “That was just the rehearsal of your death, amigo. The next time I throw you overboard, you become sharks bait and I simply have one of your men here make the radio call. It would be better coming from you, though… better for us and better for you. You decide.”

  The leader looked up at Santappia with a combination of pain and anger on his face then nodded his head in defeat.

  Santappia sheaved his knife again and stood up.

  “De May take our friend here and let him make the call from the radio on their boat. Captain, would you please accompany them and make sure he says what we want him to say … not a word more or less, you comprende, amigo?”

  The man nodded again.

  After the leader sent the message, Santappia kept everyone busy. First he had the four cartel members brought below. There weren’t many areas on Santana that weren’t created for comfort, so they ended up placing all of the men, bound, in the utility room. That is, after they bandaged the leader’s shoulder. It turned out that Riggy’s bullet passed right through his shoulder making the wound easier to treat.