by Peter Vegas
Sam hadn’t spotted the narrow trench that ran between the floor and the hull, but it was just wide enough for a boy and just deep enough too.
Sam felt like he had dropped into a metal coffin. He’d landed on his side, facing the hull, with death lurking above. The crocodile’s claws scraped across the metal plates as the beast tried to get to its prey. Sam listened to its long, raspy breaths just inches away. As he lay there in the darkness, the idea of being attacked from behind triggered a fresh flood of panic. Sam twisted to face the threat, even though he couldn’t see it. But suddenly he was rolling again.
He hadn’t fallen into a trench. It was a gap that led to a narrow space under the floor. Sam stopped and lay there listening to the crocodile as it slithered backward and forward on the steel plates just above him. He inspected his hiding space with a quick burst of his flashlight and spotted an identical gap on the other side. Sam rolled in super slow motion to the opposite side of the sub. He kept his phone off and moved by feel, listening for the sounds of the crocodile to work out where it was.
Sam eased into the gap next to the floor and readied his phone. He sat up, aimed it in the direction of the ladder, and flicked it on and off. In the brief flash of light, he spotted it, just a few feet from where he was lying. He lay down again, listening for signs that the crocodile had spotted his new position.
The sub stayed quiet.
Sam inched his way up the sub, keeping track of the distance in his head. When he figured he had gone five feet, he sat up and used his light again. He was now directly opposite the ladder.
Sam lay back down, breathing slowly and listening for the crocodile, but the man hunter had gone deathly quiet. He imagined the crocodile hatching its own plan, stalking him as he lay there. His heart beat faster, and his mind screamed at him to get out of there.
Sam sat up, climbed out of the gap beside the floor, and lunged toward the ladder, hoping he had the angle right. His hands hit cold steel; his feet found the bottom rung. As he climbed, he heard the scrambling of claws on steel plate, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of his feet thumping the rungs of the ladder.
Sam burst out into the cool night air and flung himself away from the hatch, powered by the fear of the beast below. He lay on the slimy deck, breathing so loudly he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. Then a new wave of panic ripped through Sam as a hand gripped his shoulder and a voice said, “You are under arrest.”
9
FRAMED
HE WAS COLD, WET, AND tired. Every part of his body ached, and then his nose began to itch.
It got worse, and he flicked his head from side to side, trying to shake off the sensation. It didn’t work. One quick scratch would have solved the problem, but his hands were cuffed behind his back.
Sam leaned forward, straining to reach the back of the front seat. It was a couple of inches too far. Then the police car braked, and Sam pitched forward, slamming into the worn vinyl. The itch disappeared as a jolt of eye-watering pain shot through Sam’s nose. He groaned, prompting the policeman in the passenger seat to turn and say something in Spanish.
Sam eased himself back and rested his head on the window, watching orange streetlights pop in and out of view, to take his mind off his throbbing nose. It was a bad end to a rough night, but he knew it could have been worse.
When rough hands grabbed him on the deck of the sub, the wave of panic that hit him had been fueled by the thought that the Scar-Faced Man had tracked him down. When he heard the words you’re under arrest, he almost felt relieved.
The two policemen led him to the front of the sub and down a shiny new ladder. Safely on the ground, they were almost apologetic when one of them produced a pair of handcuffs. Sam didn’t understand their Spanish explanation but guessed they were telling him it was procedure. Their car was parked at the front gates. They helped Sam into the backseat and headed for town.
Orange Walk was deserted. The digital clock on the dashboard said 11:20 p.m., but it felt much later. After escaping the Scar-Faced Man and facing death inside sub 518, Sam felt strangely calm about returning to the police station. If he kept to the story—a naughty exchange student, exploring a junkyard at night—he was sure he could get away with just a telling off.
They pulled up outside the building Sam had visited only that afternoon. Now it seemed like a lifetime ago. The policeman from the passenger seat led Sam into the darkened reception area. As he removed the handcuffs, Sam heard footsteps on the stairs.
“Hello, Chester Billington,” Jerry said, crossing the floor. He nodded a dismissal to the other policeman and stuck out his hand to Sam. “You have had a busy night, yes?”
Just stick to the story, Sam told himself. I’m just a naughty exchange student on a midnight adventure. He offered an embarrassed smile. “Yeah. I’m really sorry about all this.”
“Are you hungry?” asked Jerry. “I can offer you some soup.” He pointed to the stairs. “Let’s go upstairs to my office?”
The offer of food got Sam’s attention. He nodded eagerly and followed the man.
Jerry led Sam to a small office a few doors down from the room where he had gone with the Scar-Faced Man. The policeman sat down behind a desk covered in paper and motioned Sam to the one opposite. He fussed over some documents, moving a couple of stacks of paper from one side to the other. He looked up at Sam and shook his head slowly, the smile still on his face.
“You know, Chester, when I told you the submarine wasn’t safe, I had no idea there was a crocodile living inside it. You must have been terrified.”
“A bit,” Sam replied.
Jerry’s eyes widened. “A crocodile is not to be messed with, my friend. You would have seen that at Xibalba. It is just lucky my men happened to be passing by.”
Sam nodded, but Jerry’s comment seemed odd. The police car just happened to be passing? The junkyard was a long way from town. And how did the policeman know he had been to Xibalba—a lucky guess?
“Ah, here it is.” Jerry produced a pink sheet of paper. “I need you to fill this in, Chester. And while you do, I’ll get that soup.”
Jerry left, and Sam studied the piece of paper. The title was in Spanish, but the English translation was next to it in brackets: Incident Report.
Jerry called out from down the hall. “I just need you to write your name, address, and phone number. That’s all.”
Sam wondered how many lies he could get away with, but then he realized Jerry hadn’t given him a pen. He scanned the desk but only saw paper. Behind it, under the window, was a bookshelf jammed with folders full of more documents. Sam scanned the shelves, looking for a pen, but his eyes locked on to a small wooden picture frame, and a chill ran through him. He sat bolt upright, ears straining. The sounds of a running tap and clanging pot drifted up the corridor.
Mounted behind the glass in the frame was a roughly drawn stickman family—two big ones, and a smaller one in the middle. A large yellow circle, representing the sun, loomed over them and beside them was a blue oval shape. That was a lake.
Sam knew this because he had drawn the picture.
He had been three and half; the drawing was a birthday present for his mother. She had framed it and kept it by her bed from then on, even when she traveled. She referred to it as her little family. Sam’s heart raced. He could still hear Jerry in the kitchen. He got up and retrieved the frame, then glanced out the door. The corridor was empty, so he walked quickly to the stairs.
The whole thing had been a setup. Of course the police weren’t passing by, Sam thought as he took the stairs three at a time. He entered the darkened reception area, hoping the doors were still open. His luck held.
Sam sprinted across the tiled floor. As he leapt down the steps to the footpath, he checked the road, relieved that the police car had gone. That feeling lasted only a couple of seconds. The man had positioned himself behind the streetlight. As Sam ran past, he stepped out and grabbed him. Sam recognized the uniform, then the face. It
was the policeman from the passenger seat. Two giant hands gripped him in a meaty vise, and Sam understood that the wide-open doors had also been a setup, and he’d fallen for it.
As he was guided back up the stairs, Sam heard the front doors being bolted. Sitting on Jerry’s desk was a bowl of tomato soup and plate with two pieces of toast. The smell was delicious, but Sam forced himself to turn away from the mouthwatering display. He looked at Jerry. “Those policemen weren’t just driving past the junkyard, were they?”
“No,” the man said. “I thought you might try to visit the submarine, and I was concerned for your safety.”
“You knew who I was?”
Jerry nodded. “I suspected you were Sam Force, but I wasn’t sure.”
“So you left the picture out for me to see.”
Jerry nodded again then pointed to the soup. “Please eat.”
Sam looked up at the policeman. “Did you know my parents?”
Jerry shook his head. “No. The discovery of the submarine and your parents’ visit took place before I came to Orange Walk.”
Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. He grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite, then began spooning the soup into his mouth.
“Who’s the man with the big scar on his face?” he asked between mouthfuls.
Jerry glanced toward the door then sat down and stared at Sam, the smile gone from his face. “How do you know about him?”
Sam explained how the Scar-Faced Man had arrived to interview him before Jerry and how he had gotten cold feet and locked himself in the bathroom.
Jerry listened intently, writing notes on a small pad.
“The man with the scar is called Azeem Rochez,” Jerry said when Sam had finished. “He was a police officer here in Orange Walk. He left the force soon after Superintendent Ramos. He was the first to join his cult.”
“Cult!” said Sam. “I thought Xibalba was a crocodile park?”
Jerry smiled, but it was thin and forced. “The park and show are for the tourists. There is a darker side to Xibalba. People used to come from all over Belize, and the world, to witness the power Felix Ramos has over his crocodiles. He says it is a gift from Kinich Ahau.”
Jerry leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. “I told you he was crazy. I meant it. Sam, if he knows you are in Belize, you are in more danger than I thought.”
“But why?” Sam demanded. “Has he got something to do with my parents going missing? Please, I need to know.”
Jerry stared at his desk as if he hoped to spot a piece of paper that could help. “I can only tell you what I know,” he said. “Felix Ramos was a long-serving police officer here in Orange Walk. When he found the submarine, he received a lot of attention from the press and television. And then your parents arrived.”
Jerry paused. Sam could see him deciding how much to say. He wanted to yell at him to hurry up but fought the urge.
“Soon after your parents’ visit,” Jerry continued, “Superintendent Ramos was attacked by a huge crocodile. He killed it, but his injuries were very serious. After his recovery, he claimed to have power over all crocodiles. He also became very wealthy. There was talk that he found a lot of gold. He used his new wealth to build Xibalba.”
Sam felt his anger flare. “You said after my parents’ visit, like they came here and went home. They didn’t. I haven’t seen them for five years!”
Jerry sat back, running his hands through his short black hair. “I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to make light of your parents’ disappearance. But I have looked into the matter. Your parents left the country, and I don’t believe Felix Ramos had anything to do with it, but . . .”
“But what?” Sam demanded.
“The submarine, the gold, and the power of Kinich Ahau. I think these are linked, although I cannot prove it. I suspect your parents believed that too. If Felix has discovered you are their son, he may see you as a threat to his power.”
“Not if he hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say he hadn’t done anything wrong,” Jerry said. “I told you I don’t believe he had anything to do with your parents’ disappearance. But people have gone missing at Xibalba.” Jerry picked up a stack of papers that were perched on the far side of his desk and dropped them between him and Sam.
“These are missing persons reports. People who came to witness the power of Felix Ramos and then disappeared.” Jerry tapped the pile with a finger. “But only after signing their possessions over to him. I have been researching this case since I came to Orange Walk. That’s how I know about your parents.”
Sam stared at the document and said nothing. Jerry broke the silence. “So you see, Sam, there is nothing here for you. There are no answers. But if you push a man like Felix Ramos, I won’t be able to protect you. You have to leave Orange Walk.”
Jerry looked up, and Sam realized someone else had entered the room. He turned to see the policeman who had brought him into the station.
“Officer Martinez and his partner will drive you to the airport in Belize City,” Jerry said. “I have booked you a ticket back to Boston. I presume you want to travel under your fake identity?”
Sam looked at Jerry. The smile returned to the policeman’s face for a moment.
Sam could feel his choices slipping away. “Hang on a minute.”
“Sam,” Jerry said firmly. “I have told you everything I know. Your parents were here, but they left. There are no more answers here.”
“Left for where?”
“I don’t know. Now, please. For your own safety, you must leave.” Jerry rose to his feet and nodded to the other policeman, who placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
The three of them went downstairs to the reception area. While Officer Martinez opened the front doors, Jerry said good-bye to Sam, then handed him over to the men who would make sure he left the country.
10
GREEN LIGHTS
THE STREETLIGHTS LIT UP THE interior of the police car with flashes of orange light as it cruised along the highway leading out of town.
A hundred questions crowded Sam’s mind. The ones he knew he should have asked when he was with Jerry. Why was the policeman so sure his parents had left? Why was he so sure Felix Ramos was not involved? There were too many questions, and now he would never have a chance to get answers. Sam had been dismissed. Like a visit to the headmaster’s office, his time was up, the adults had other things to do. With every streetlight they passed, Sam’s frustration and anger grew.
The car rolled through the deserted street as its passenger seethed in the backseat. The two policemen sat silently, staring ahead. Sam’s anger cooled as he began to focus on thoughts of escape. It couldn’t end like this. He would never have this chance again. He studied the door handle and lock beside him. When the car slowed, could he jump out? He thought back to the final moments at the police station.
The passenger-seat cop had put him in the backseat and closed the door, but Jerry had opened it again, just as they were about to drive off. He had handed Sam a business card. Send me your real details when you get home, and I promise to contact you if I ever find out anything to do with your parents, he’d said. Sam had ignored him, and Jerry had shut the door and they had driven off. But sitting there now, playing the scene over in his head, Sam realized that meant the door was unlocked.
Sam sat up and ran his hand across the bottom of the window. A slow, unconscious stretch, or that’s how he hoped it would look. In the dark, his fingers felt for the lock. It was up. The door would open.
The car slowed as they reached a set of lights that led onto a bridge. Sam remembered it from the bus trip. It had signaled their arrival into Orange Walk. At the other end, the car would make a sharp turn then speed up along the highway that led to Belize City.
This was his last chance to get away.
Sam sat up, pretending he wanted a better view of the river as they crossed the bridge. He put out his other hand, feeling for the backpack on the seat bes
ide him. The bridge was high, but what he remembered most about it were the boys he saw jumping off it. Sam just had to hope that neither policeman would want to follow him over the rail. That worry took his mind off the fact he was going to jump from a moving car and off a bridge in the dark.
Sam was so tense that when the car braked, he almost went headfirst into the back of the seat again. The jolt and burst of Spanish that followed from the men in the front seat brought Sam’s attention to the road ahead.
Parked in the middle of the two lanes was an old car. Its hood was up, and three men were leaning over the engine. None of them had noticed the police car, and Sam’s escorts cursed and fidgeted in their seats. Finally the passenger-seat cop wound down his window and shouted. Hands were waved in apology as the men closed the hood and gathered in front of the car to push it out of the way.
Sam knew this was his chance. Open the door, three quick steps and over the rail. But what came next? Where would he go? What could he hope to achieve? He didn’t know. All he was doing was acting on the urge to stay free. He couldn’t let them send him away now. Not with so many unanswered questions.
The policemen watched the men on the bridge impatiently. The passenger-seat cop leaned out of his window again. Sam gripped the door handle. He would go when the man yelled, hoping the noise would cover his exit. Suddenly, there was a blur of movement at the broken-down car. Two of the men spun toward the police car. They had guns. There were two flashes of light and everything went black.
The headlights had been shot out; the guns had been fitted with silencers. The only noise was the tinkling of glass, then running footsteps. Figures appeared on each side of the car. A man pulled Sam’s door open and wrenched him out. As Sam was dragged to the old car, the struggling policemen fell silent.
The man threw Sam into the backseat and pushed him to the far side as another man wearing the same helmet and mask jammed in beside him. The engine started with a roar, tires screeched, and the car took off. Through the open window Sam saw they were heading out of town. In the darkness, he found the opening of his backpack, put his hand inside, and found the picture frame. The car slowed for the turn onto the riverbank highway. Sam slipped the frame out the window, and as the car swung around the bend, he tossed it into a clump of bushes.