Lost Voyage

by Chris Tucker

  The breaths were getting heavier and the words were becoming harder to get out. “There is nothing to repay, Mr. Mercer. I didn’t do this only for you and your friend. I did it for myself. I can now leave this world as free as I was the day I entered it.”

  Those were the last words Julian Navarro spoke. His last breath was accompanied with a faint smile as he dozed off into an eternal slumber.

  The stillness of the morning air made Mercer forget for a moment that he was still being hunted down by mercenaries. It came barreling back to him as he heard voices coming from off in the distance. He laid Navarro down on the ground and picked up his rifle, about to continue on with his escape. Stopping for a moment, he turned back to where he last saw Vallejos. With rage boiling through his veins, he thought of crossing the field once again to claim his vengeance on the ruthless killer. With the voices getting closer to his position, however, he knew this was neither the time nor the place for vengeful tactics. He turned back and vanished into the forest.

  ***

  Vallejos had remained hidden and was crouched down in the brush. As he watched Mercer running off into the dense jungle, he decided on returning to the compound and carrying on with the task of finding the ship. Confident that the NESA team would undoubtedly try to reach the gold very soon, he knew he must get to it first. He would have to wait for another opportunity to kill the escaped prisoner.

  A group of soldiers came up behind him and one of them asked, “Andres, are you okay?”

  Recognizing the voice of the man who asked the question, he answered in a displeased voice. “Kervin, my Lieutenant and head of security. Where have you been?”

  He didn’t wait for a response. “Gather the men. I want that ship found at all costs.” He then stood up and hastily brushed past Esperanza as he proceeded back to the compound.

  21

  Esperanza was waiting outside his employer’s bedroom, preparing himself mentally for the barrage of words he knew he would receive shortly. A few minutes later, the door finally opened.

  Fully clothed and ready to head out, Vallejos asked, “Are the men assembled?”

  “Yes. I made sure of it personally. As you requested, all but a few men that will stay behind are outside awaiting your arrival.”

  “It is a shame I cannot give them what I had hoped for. Where were you this morning, Kervin?”

  Esperanza tried to hide that he was now in possession of the port log. He skirted around the question. “I had some affairs that needed tending to. I’m sorry I was not here.”

  Vallejos had calmed his demeanor despite the events of the morning. “The fact remains that many more of my men are dead, and it appears the Americans had help from one of our own. This makes me very uneasy, Kervin. If we cannot trust our own men, then we have much bigger concerns.”

  “It was one man who betrayed us, Andres. It is an unfortunate thing to happen, but I believe that every other man is loyal to you and your cause.”

  “Mercer and Vigil are now free. They will no doubt pursue the location of the ship and we must stop at nothing to find it first.” Before heading downstairs, he made a stop at his office, where he knew his consultant was waiting.

  Having been made aware of the escape upon his arrival to the compound, Rojas guessed his employer would not be in a pleasant mood. At the request of Vallejo, he had compiled a large amount of data on the two men who had caused so much trouble over recent days. Now that the prisoners had successfully achieved their daring escape, he cringed at telling the cartel leader what information he was able to retrieve. He heard footsteps coming from down the hall and straightened his posture, readying himself for the meeting.

  Vallejos walked in with Esperanza in tow. There were no pleasantries exchanged and Rojas made no attempt to lighten the mood with small talk. Instead, he handed his employer a packet containing the information he had requested.

  “I called our contact in the U.S. State Department. What he found was troubling, to say the least.”

  Without looking through the documents just handed to him, Vallejos spoke in a firm and direct tone.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  Rojas got straight to the point. “Well, it turns out the Americans are most definitely not simple scientists. Their military history and training is extensive and the company they work for is far more than just another environmentalist group. NESA is a government-backed organization that was formed by prior military personnel. Colonel Alan Hunt founded the group and brought on Sean Mercer and Pat Vigil as his two primary researchers. Both men are ex-Army Rangers with vast combat experience and have been in more than a few altercations over the years while on assignments.”

  Vallejos and Esperanza shared an uneasy look as they realized they were up against a more formidable adversary than they had originally thought.

  Rojas continued. “Mercer was discharged for striking a superior officer and Colonel Hunt saved him from a military court martial. Vigil was present when the incident took place, but refused to testify against his friend. He was demoted and discharged shortly thereafter for not cooperating.”

  “And what of the woman that was with them?” asked Esperanza.

  “She is just a geologist. Her name is Emily Lundy and I could find no ties with her to Mercer or NESA. She is not someone we need to concern ourselves with.”

  Vallejos pondered what he had been told. “So, it would appear we have two men with combat military training running free in our jungle. Under normal circumstance I would say we need to rethink our strategy, but regretfully we do not have that luxury. We go ahead with our plan as scheduled. Kervin, inform the men to pack extra ammunition and supplies. The Americans will show their faces soon enough, and when they do, we will be ready for them.”

  Rojas stood up to leave and Esperanza followed shortly thereafter. Sitting alone in his office with wandering thoughts, Vallejos lit a cigar and leaned back while closing his eyes to clear his mind. After a few puffs he reopened his eyes and stood up to make his way downstairs.

  He reached the bottom of the staircase and exited the building, where he took notice of the men who were gathered and assembled as ordered. The soldiers had spent the rest of the morning loading trucks with extra supplies and stocking up at the ammunitions depot. Now, they all stood in formation awaiting orders from their leader. He positioned himself in the center of the formation to ensure every soldier heard what he had to say.

  “You’re all aware of what took place here this morning. The two men who escaped are extremely dangerous and will do everything they can to halt us in our efforts of finding this ship. You will face great danger during this expedition, and those men will be part of that danger. You have direct orders to kill them on sight. The one that does so will carry great favor from me.”

  He then glanced at Esperanza and said, “Load the men. We leave in ten minutes.”

  ***

  Mercer was making his way through the thick brush and foliage, trying to put as much distance between him and any soldiers who might be pursuing him. After a few miles, he came to a small, remote village where he observed a few local residents casually carrying about with their mornings.

  Taking cover behind one of the huts, he scanned the area for any military personnel. Seeing none, he cautiously made his way down a dirt road through the center of the village. As expected, he drew suspicious looks from the locals. Realizing no one meant him any harm, he approached an elderly woman sitting on her porch in a rickety rocking chair.

  She had her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth that the morning sun was offering. She didn’t even realize there was anyone in her vicinity until she heard a voice speaking to her.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you speak English?”

  Startled at first, it took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the sunlight. Looking at the man who stood before her, she uttered, “Yes. Yes I do. In fact, a good majority of the people in this village do. This was once a popular stopping destination for ships on their way
to the Panama Canal. Many Americans would stay in local lodges and the townspeople learned to speak English from sailors who were gracious enough to teach us.”

  Relieved he would be understood, he began telling his tale. As he relived his ordeal with the woman, she listened with great interest. He went on about how he and his friend had been held as prisoners and how they escaped. He continued with how he had been shot in the hind side and made his way through the forest, which led him to this point in time.

  She never flinched during the story. She just listened intently until he was done and only then did she respond.

  “You are safe here. We do not support the cartel and you can trust these people. Please, come in and rest for a while.”

  “With much respect ma’am, I don’t have time to rest. I need to get back to town. Is there anyone here who can help me with that?”

  “The only vehicle in this village is my father’s motorcycle. He passed away some time ago. It is very old, but it may still run. You are welcome to it if it starts.”

  The generosity of the offer took him by surprise. “Thank you so much. I could never repay you for this.”

  “Think nothing of it. From the sound of what you have been through, anything I can do to help will never be enough. Please, just get yourself to safety. The bike is around back. I’ll get you the key.”

  When she returned, he reiterated his appreciation. He then jaunted to the backside of the hut, where he noticed a brown tarp covering what he guessed to be the bike. Upon removal of the tarp, he found himself admiring the machine that lay before him. It was a Norton Dominator from the late nineteen-fifties that looked to be in rather exceptional condition.

  There were many things he had become passionate about over his lifetime, but none had the appealing draw to him like a classic motorcycle. Over the years, he was able to acquire a vast array of bikes either at collector’s shows or during his expeditions throughout the world. He built a separate garage at his home in Seattle to display his acquisitions and quite frequently took them out for a ride when he was between assignments.

  This bike in particular was a very rare model that he was familiar with, but had never seen up to this point. It was the Model 99 with a 600cc engine. This particular engine was designed specifically to provide more torque than its earlier versions, and both the bore and the stroke of the engine were increased to achieve this feat. In its heyday, the Model 99 was one of the most powerful bikes on the road.

  These were all things Mercer knew about the bike's history from manufacturing specifications. What he didn’t know was if it would still run after sitting idle under a tarp in the jungle for a number of years. The original polychromatic grey paint finish was still noticeable, although slightly faded from years of being unattended to, but there was something added to this bike that wasn’t part of the normal production process. A downdraught cylinder head had been installed, most likely, he thought, for better heat dissipation in the harsh jungle. This one added feature alone made this bike a one of a kind specimen.

  Sitting on the bike, he put the key in the ignition. Half-expecting nothing to happen, and unsure if it would turn over, he let out a deep breath and sighed in relief as he heard the surprisingly quiet hum of the motor. Revving the engine to bring life back throughout the entire motorcycle, he let it run for a minute before finally rolling out from behind the hut. Stopping in front to once again thank the woman for her kindness, he sped off down the dirt road and made his way back into town.

  ***

  After securing an extra key at the hotel’s front desk, Mercer took the staircase up to his room. He cautiously unlocked the door and slowly peered inside. To his relief, all he saw was his partner sitting on the end of one of the beds. That relief quickly came to an end when he saw the condition of the ransacked room.

  “It seems room service is a little different here than back home,” joked Vigil.

  The room had been turned upside down and was left in complete shambles. Their personal belongings were thrown about and there was broken furniture scattered all over the floor.

  Vigil continued with his sarcastic wit. “Who do you think we should tell the hotel to bill for this mess?”

  Mercer looked around the room and took a mental inventory of everything that was scattered to see if anything out of the ordinary was missing. Knowing there was nothing in the room of any importance to begin with; he decided to put his frustrations aside for the time being and get cleaned up. Walking into the bathroom to rinse himself off, something in particular caught his attention. He called to his partner.

  “Hey, Pat, did you notice this in here?”

  Vigil hopped up to see what his friend was inquiring about. Letting out a chuckle as he looked at the broken golf clubs on the floor, he gave his assessment.

  “Well, those could only belong to one person. But, judging by the condition of those irons, I would say the Colonel will now want to get his hands on Vallejos just as badly as we do.”

  Hearing footsteps coming into the room from behind, Mercer reached for the pistol tucked underneath his shirt. Only, it wasn’t the ambush he had possibly expected. When he turned around, a man with ruffled auburn hair and a perfectly trimmed goatee of the same color was staring directly at them.

  Unsure of what to say, Mercer uttered, “Well hello, Colonel. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

  There was no humor in Hunt's tone when he spoke. “Do you have any idea of the personal hell I’ve been through over the past few days wondering whether or not you two were alive or dead?”

  Mercer knew his place and decided not to push his luck any further. The all sat down and Hunt asked for a briefing. For the next fifteen minutes, Mercer and Vigil brought him up to speed on everything that had transpired over the previous few days, leaving out no details. Hunt sat in silence the entire time and when they were done explaining their story, he finally responded.

  “Sean, I told you not to get too close to this thing. You almost got yourself killed, and Pat along with you.”

  Calming himself, he leaned forward and spoke in a more subtle tone. “However, I must say I’m relieved you are both still in one piece. The ordeal you have been through is most unfortunate, but now we need to decide what to do next. There is still the matter of dealing with this man who held you both prisoners.”

  Having been on the run all morning in fear of his life, this was the first chance Mercer had to reflect on the day's events. Before responding to Hunt, he looked over at his partner and, with defeat in his voice, he spoke.

  “The kid didn’t make it. I did all I could, but it wasn’t enough.”

  Vigil could sense the loss his friend was feeling. “It’s not your fault, Sean. He knew the risk he was taking, but he still sacrificed himself so we could be free. We need to remember him for that.”

  The words did little to console him, but he knew his friend was right.

  He turned his head back towards the direction of Hunt. “There’s only one thing Vallejos wants now, and that will make it easy for us to find him.”

  “And then what?” Hunt asked.

  “Then.…” A look came over Mercer as his eyes filled with a hatred Hunt had ever witnessed before.

  “Then, I kill him.”

  22

  Hunt had given his men just enough time to wash up and grab a quick bite to eat before heading downstairs. It was made very clear to them that time was of the utmost importance at this juncture, and they were to be out in front of the hotel in thirty minutes. To his pleasure, they were not a second late.

  The ride to the airstrip where the NESA jet awaited them was brief, but it had given the two friends a chance to talk about what transpired earlier in the morning.

  “How did you manage to get shot in the butt?” Vigil asked with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

  “It’s just a flesh wound. I barely even feel it now.” Mercer, trying to hide the embarrassment of the situation, steered the conversation in another direc
tion.

  “How did you get back to town so fast? I was on a motorcycle and you beat me.”

  “I hitched a ride on a fruit truck, unbeknownst to the driver. It was stopped on the side of the road so I slid into the back and hid under a tarp trying to get as far away as possible from the compound. Luckily, it was heading my way. I reached town in no time. The good news is I had a lovely fruit salad for breakfast.”

  “Anything would sound better than what we’ve eaten the last few days,” quipped Mercer.

  “Yeah, but you got a nice new bike to add to your collection. That beats my meager breakfast any day.”

  Mercer replied, “It amazes me how well the locals have treated us. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? I mean, these people live in constant fear of the cartel and yet they’ve offered us nothing but warmth and generosity. They know what’s going on around them, but they carry on with their everyday lives just trying to find a moment of happiness. They don’t deserve what they’re going through.”

  Vigil agreed wholeheartedly with the statement. “Well, at least we were able to determine the cause of the pollution in the water supply. That’s one step we can take to repay the locals. Once we put a cleanup system in place, things should be back to normal for at least their water issues. The only thing left to do now is rid them of this barbaric moron who’s gotten just a little too big for his britches.”

  “The sooner the better on that one,” replied Mercer. “Then, we can get back to the comfort of Seattle.”

  Vigil decided to razz his friend a little. “You know damn well the only reason you want to get back home so badly is so you can pay a visit to your little blonde friend you found roaming through the jungle. You‘re so transparent, it kills me.”

  Mercer smiled at the comment. “Eh, you’re just jealous because I always get the pretty ones. But, she is one reason. I’ll give you that.”

  The two engaged in small talk until they reached the airstrip. The NESA jet was sitting on the runway with four armed men standing guard around it. The guards were part of a twelve man team Hunt had brought back with him. As it sat on the runway, the white fuselage stood out against the green background of the forest. The metallic blue strips on the wings matched the lettering on the tail fin, proudly displaying the letters of the organization which owned the jet.