Lost Voyage

by Chris Tucker

  Dismissing his consultant, he stood there for a moment before deciding on going to pay a visit to his two prisoners. He made his way down the stairs through the long corridor and down the staircase to the dungeon. Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a soldier who stood at attention when he identified his superior.

  Without acknowledging the soldier, he strolled down the hallway to the cell. When he reached it, he could see Vigil was lying down facing the wall. Mercer, however, was standing right in front of the bars, as if welcoming his captor. There was nothing inviting about the look on his face, however.

  “And to what do I owe this great pleasure?” he asked sarcastically.

  Vallejos knew he now had the upper hand in every aspect of the game being played. He replied just as sarcastically when he responded.

  “I come baring good news. I have found this ship you seem to know nothing about.”

  Mercer tried to conceal the curious look on his face. “Oh really? And what exactly did you find?”

  Vallejos didn’t feel the need to discuss how little he actually did find. “The only thing you need to know is that I will live out my days as a very wealthy man. You and your friend do not share that same luxury.”

  There was a smug look on his face that Mercer found sickening. “You are the most despicable person I’ve ever met. You care nothing for anyone but yourself. Enjoy living out the remainder of your days as a wealthy man. You don’t have many left.”

  Vallejos laughed out loud. “Save yourself the embarrassment of making empty threats you cannot follow through with. In a short matter of time, you will find that your time on this earth has come to an end.”

  “If you had any balls, you would just kill us yourself right now,” barked Mercer.

  “Where is the fun in that? Killing you down here with no one to witness it is hardly what I would call making an impression. No, I intend to make your deaths a public spectacle for all to see. At first light, in front of my entire Army, you will die by my hand for all to enjoy.”

  He waited a few seconds before speaking again in order to give his previous statement time to sink in. “Take the time to make peace with your God, Mr. Mercer, because tomorrow you and your friend will meet your maker.”

  He turned to walk away, expecting to hear a response, but instead, there was complete silence in the hallway.

  It was less than a minute before he was through the door and out of sight. Vigil, who had overheard the entire conversation, finally rolled over and looked at his partner.

  “I guess now would be as good a time as any to check out of this roach motel.”

  Mercer knew the time to make a move would need to be soon. He had made up his mind when it would happen.

  “We go first thing in the morning right after guard change.”

  17

  Donning a Seattle Mariners baseball cap over his ruffled auburn hair, his cloudy grey eyes scanned the lobby of the hotel he had just stepped into. Wearing a pink polo shirt with light beige pants, he looked like an American tourist cliché right down to a tee. To anyone who glanced at him, he just looked like a little old man who was a long way from home. The only thing he had in his possession was a set of golf clubs in a bag that displayed the name Callaway.

  Colonel Hunt always brought his clubs with him no matter where he went in hopes to hit the greens every chance he got. However, with no golf course within a hundred miles from his current location, he wasn’t surprised to be getting the looks he was from other people in the lobby. With the clerk at the desk engaged in conversation with other guests, he decided it was time to put his plan into motion.

  Bending over to pick up his clubs, he put the strap over his shoulder and stood up to reposition himself. Placing his hand on one side of the bag, he gave a firm push to swing it around his backside – a push that was intentionally too strong. The bag spun swung around, seemingly sending him spiraling out of control until he slipped and fell by the wayside. It created a scene big enough to catch the attention of everyone in the lobby.

  The clerk left his post at the desk to rush to the aid of the fallen old man, where a crowd was gathering to see the spectacle.

  “Please, give him some room,” said the clerk. “Are you okay, sir? Are you hurt?”

  Hunt looked up with a dazed look in his eyes, pretending to be unsure of where he was. “Wha…what happened?”

  “You had a fairly nasty fall. Just lay here for a minute. Are you hurt in any way?”

  Still looking confused, he responded, “I…I think I pulled something in my back. I’m in quite some pain. Would you mind helping me up to my room?”

  Playing the part of gracious host, the clerk replied, “Of course, sir. What room are you staying in?”

  Pausing to respond, he continued his dazed look as if trying to remember what room he was in. He had gotten the room number from Dallas, but wanted to play the part of an injured and confused old man. After a few seconds of silence, he finally answered.

  “Two twenty four.”

  The clerk, who was a good six inches taller than the injured man, helped him up slowly. He was fairly skinny, but Hunt noticed he had a great amount of strength for his lanky body. Another hotel employee had arrived to help with the golf clubs and they made their way up the stairs slowly as Hunt let out a few moans of pain to be more convincing in his charade.

  When they reached the corridor, the man with the golf clubs took a chair from the hallway and placed it next to the door of the room. After placing the bag down against the wall, the clerk told him he could take it the rest of the way. He lowered the old man into the chair and asked him for his room key so he could open the door for him.

  Fumbling through his pockets, Hunt pulled out a few coins and some pieces of paper. Baffled, he stated, “Oh, that’s right, I gave my key to my son. He told me he would be here when I got back, but he should be back shortly. Can you just let me in so I can lie down on the bed? My back is really starting to tighten up.”

  “I’ll have to go down to the desk and get a key. Can I get your name, sir?”

  “Of course you can, sonny. It’s Jonathan Mercer.”

  “Okay, Mr. Mercer. I’ll be back in just a minute. Please stay still until I get back so you don’t injure yourself further.”

  “You’re a fine young man. Thank you.” Hunt sat and moaned softly as he watched the clerk walk down the hallway and disappear around the corner.

  As soon as the young man was out of sight, he hopped up from the chair and stretched his limbs to ensure that his accidental fall hadn’t actually bruised anything. He had taken harder falls than that in the past, and had stronger bones than most men half his age, so he wasn’t overly worried. But, better safe than sorry, he thought. After a quick check of all outer extremities, he sat back down in the chair and once again took to the part of a fragile old man. A few moments later, the clerk returned.

  “Mr. Mercer, are you still doing okay?”

  “I’ll be much better when I’m in a comfortable bed and can get off my feet.”

  “There’s no record of you being on the register for the room, sir. It’s not a big deal, but I need to see some form of identification to let you into the room. It is strictly hotel policy and I apologize for having to ask, considering the circumstance.”

  Knowing he couldn’t provide an accurate form of ID, he simply played along. “Of course. Let me just get my wallet.”

  As he flipped open the wallet, he looked at his license with the name Alan Hunt sticking out like a sore thumb. He found a picture of him and Mercer at a charity golf event. They were holding a trophy that displayed First Place Winners of the tournament.

  Figuring he was playing a senile old man anyway, he thought he might as well keep the charade going. He pulled the picture out of the wallet and showed it to the clerk.

  “Ah, this here is my boy, Sean. He loves golf almost as much as I do. We took first place in a father/son tourney. There were over fifty teams that day and we beat ‘em a
ll.”

  Acting interested, the clerk politely looked at the picture and then responded, “Very nice, sir. If I could just see your ID, I can let you into your room so you can rest.”

  The old man kept on rambling as if the clerk's words went in one ear and out the other. “He’s always been into sports. From an early age, he wanted to be a baseball player. As he grew older, though, he became more interested in contact sports and wanted to play professional football. Kids want to be everything when they’re young and they think it’s so easy to get there.”

  “Sounds like a great son you have there, sir. If I could just see your….”

  “Do you have kids?” Hunt interrupted.

  “No, sir. My wife and I would like to at some point, but not at this time.”

  “Kids are amazing and they will change your life forever. Be sure you and your pretty little lady are ready for the task. Although, you never know when you’re ready and then they just show up.”

  Sensing the old man would just keep on with his incessant ramblings, the clerk realized he was no closer to seeing an ID than when he first asked for it. He put the key in the lock and opened the door.

  “Here you go, sir. Would you like some help to your bed?”

  Gracious for the clerk's assistance, Hunt answered, “I think I’ll be okay from here. If you would just put my clubs next to the table, I can get there the rest of the way on my own. You have been most courteous and I’m grateful for all your help.” He gave the young man a generous tip and thanked him once more before watching him walk out the door.

  When the clerk reached the desk, the hotel manager asked him where he had been.

  “I was assisting Mr. Mercer. He took a fall in the lobby and I helped him to his room. The old man wouldn’t shut up.”

  “Old man?” questioned the manager.

  The manager remembered the Americans checking in and nothing about either man stuck out as them being old.

  “He wasn’t on the register at sign in,” the clerk responded. “But, he said he’s the father of Sean Mercer.”

  The manager suddenly had a look of bewilderment on his face. The clerk could see this and asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Everything is fine.”

  He left the clerk to his position at the front desk and went into his office and picked up the phone. When a familiar voice on the other end answered, the manager spoke.

  “Geovany, I have some new information. It seems that someone claiming to be Sean Mercer’s father has just checked in.”

  18

  As Hunt canvassed the room, he found very little in the way that could help him regarding his men’s whereabouts. Finding nothing to lead him any further, he sat down to take a moment and consider his options. He briefly blamed himself that they were all in this situation, but he also knew Mercer’s stubbornness would have prevailed either way and he would have ended up staying regardless of the circumstances. The Colonel was a stern leader and displayed a strong presence, but he trusted his Special Operations Director to a fault sometimes. He only hoped his loyalty to that friendship hadn’t gotten him and Vigil hurt, or even killed.

  After an hour with no sign of his men, he decided to leave the hotel and return at a later time. Slowly making his way down the stairs, he once again resumed his role as a wounded old man. As he was about to exit the lobby, he noticed the manager talking to another man. They were whispering to one another as they looked over in his direction. He nodded out of politeness, but couldn’t help thinking they were talking about him. His suspicions were confirmed as he saw the manager point in his direction.

  He suddenly had an overwhelming feeling that his men’s disappearance was a direct result of getting too close to the cartel's operations. His knew his next step would need to be to determine the location where his men were most likely being held.

  ***

  Esperanza had assembled most of the men in front of the main building. Briefing them on the upcoming operation, he didn’t reveal exactly what they were looking for. He told them they would be trying to locate a lost ship which may have been buried in the jungle, but spoke nothing of the gold that may be with it. He informed them they would be leaving early in the morning, and to be fully armed and prepared for anything. Assured they understood the details of the operation, he dismissed them back to their quarters.

  As he walked back inside, something caught his eye. There was a soldier he noticed who had just come through the door at the end of the long hallway. He walked over to confront him.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Answering his superior, the soldier responded, “I don’t feel well. I was looking for the doctor.”

  Esperanza displayed no patience or sympathy in his voice. “There’s no one in here that can help you. You have no business being in that room. What is your name?”

  “Navarro, sir.”

  “Well, Navarro, I suggest you rest well tonight. You will be joining the rest of the men tomorrow whether you are sick or not.”

  He walked the soldier to the door and then proceeded upstairs to the office of his employer.

  Walking hurriedly away from the building, Navarro let out a sigh of relief. His snooping around trying to locate the two prisoners had almost backfired on him. He feared he may have compromised his entire plan and was relieved to get out with only a warning from Esperanza. During his excursion, he was able to find out exactly where the two Americans were being held, as he had located the staircase and the holding cell area without being noticed by any of the other guards. Knowing that any escape attempt would need to be made quickly, he headed back to his quarters to figure out his next move.

  ***

  It was still dark the next morning when Navarro was leaving his tent. Trying to avoid detection, he quietly made his way down the road, staying off to the side so he wouldn’t be seen by anyone. The other soldiers were still in their beds sleeping, except for a few who were on watch detail. He knew if he could stay clear of them, he would have an easy path to the building where the two prisoners were being held captive.

  As he scurried through the dark with his AK47 slung over his shoulder, he tried to figure out exactly what he would do once he reached the prisoners, or if he would be able to reach them at all. There would most certainly be at least one guard watching them, and possibly more. He knew there was no guarantee he would be able to help them escape, but he felt like he at least owed them the attempt. He would decide what course of action to take upon arriving at the cell, where he could assess the situation first-hand.

  He encountered very little activity as he made his way through the compound in the early morning hours. He had been assigned to his fair share of watch detail and was accustomed to the practices of the overnight guard watch. He also knew the soldiers on duty at this hour were most likely sitting at their posts, trying to sneak in a quick nap before the next shift was due. There usually wasn’t anything to break the monotony of the uneventful hours of silence, so the guards had no reason to patrol the grounds. They saw no need to waste their time and energy walking around in the middle of the night when they could just stay put and get some much needed rest. For the time being, he knew he had nothing to worry about.

  Approaching the main building, he took refuge behind a tree to survey the area. Noting there was no patrol in front of the structure, he made a move towards the entrance. Making it without incident, he continued up the steps to the front door. Slowly and quietly, he turned the handle and eased it open just enough for him to slide his body through.

  Upon entering, he noticed there was no one patrolling this part of the building. Still, he was cautious with each step he took. He made the walk down the long hallway to the right and approached the door to the stairwell, proceeding with the same amount of cautiousness he had displayed up to this point. Working his way down the spiral staircase, he took each step with care to avoid any creaking that might occur from the worn down and tattered wooden planks. When he reached
the bottom of the stairwell, he pressed his ear up against the door to see if he could detect anything on the other side. Hearing nothing, he put his hand on the handle and slowly twisted it. Then, he took his other hand, pressed it up against the door and gently pushed it open.

  ***

  Mercer and Vigil sat silently in their cell. With just over an hour until the seven o’clock guard change, they were finalizing the details of their escape. Mercer was going to fake a stomach illness so the guard would have to come in and check on him. At that moment, Vigil would overpower him, allowing for their escape from the cell. They knew they would have to act fast, as the sun would be rising soon. With daylight came more opportunities to be spotted on the grounds. The plan would have to be carried out in a methodical and tactical fashion in order to be successful.

  Vigil was sizing up the guard sitting at the end of the hall. There was no man he feared, and the guard looked to only have about a twenty pound weight advantage. The stocky Irish American had taken on bigger men and emerged as the victor in those instances, so this particular guard posed no threat to him that he could see. They were ready to put their plan into action and Mercer finally broke the silence.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get some fresh air.”

  Vigil was his usual sarcastic self. “If you want, I could punch you in the stomach to make it seem more realistic.”

  Mercer snidely remarked, “I’ll take my chances with just faking it, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Suit yourself, but I was hoping to take a jab at you for our little king of the hill episode. My back still hurts.”

  Mercer laughed softly. “Well, if your back hurts, maybe we should postpone our excursion.”