by Joan Mauch
“Absolutely,” Zac said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He had to succeed—with his own mission, not Leon’s. The consequences of failure were simply too horrible to contemplate.
Chapter 58
“What'd you say?” Morris Stone’s face took on the shade of crimson it always did when his blood began to boil.
“I said Jackson didn’t show up for work this morning.”
Stone looked at the wall clock. It was a little after nine-thirty. “And you’re just telling me now? Wasn’t he due in an hour ago?”
“Yes. I thought maybe he got caught in traffic or overslept. When it got to be nine, I called. He’s not answering his cell. I left several messages, but he hasn’t called back. Want me to send someone to his apartment and make sure there’s nothing wrong?”
Stone sat back, absently swiveling the chair first one way then the other. He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Yeah, do that. And he’d better be in a coma if he knows what’s good for him.”
As he waved his assignment editor out of the room, he thought about the warning he’d given Jackson after hearing about his escapade with the police: Staking out some guy’s apartment, then telling a cop some cockamamie story about being a reporter trying to uncover a human trafficking operation. He’d told Jackson if he didn’t stop it’d cost him his job.
He realized it was about that reporter. Why the guy couldn’t forget about Izzie was more than he could fathom. As far as he knew, they'd only been co-workers, partnered up to cover stories. He didn't think they weren’t dating, so why Jackson felt obligated to keep badgering the police and then stick his neck out like that was beyond him.
Well, he’d better be home and so sick he couldn’t manage to call in or even answer his phone—or else. Morris Stone knew he’d have to fire the guy. It wouldn’t do to let the rest of the crew think they could skip work, not call in and still expect to have jobs. Even if Jackson was one of his best cameramen—talented, conscientious to a fault and, until the whole Izzie mess started, the most reliable.
He sighed. Some days his job sucked. The phone rang. Maybe that was Jackson now. Maybe he'd had car trouble or was in some kind of a fender-bender. Honestly hoping that was the case, he picked up the receiver and said, “Stone.”
Chapter 59
After what seemed more like years than days, Izzie awoke to what sounded like the rattle of keys. A few seconds later, the top of the container was yanked back. The sudden light blinded her. After such a long time in the tight space with little food and water, she could scarcely move. Every muscle in her body screamed for relief.
As her eyes began to adjust, she made out several men peering down at her. They spoke a language she didn’t understand. They held their noses at the obvious stench days without bathing or toilet facilities had produced. One bent down and touched her hair. Then he smiled and nodded.
A man grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Terrified and weak, Izzie collapsed into his outstretched arms. He laughed, pinched his nose and pushed her away. Where was she and what did they want with her?
One of the men tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to a bathroom. He didn't have to tell her again. She was only too happy to oblige. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Then she saw the gun.
Chapter 60
Leon and Captain Tom finished up as Zac stood beside the steamer trunk hoping against hope that his brother was all right. Motioning for Zac to join them, Leon said, “This here’s my buddy, Zac.”
The yacht owner turned. “How’re ya doin’?”
Without giving Zac a chance to respond, Leon continued, “When you get to Belize, just leave the trunk on the dock. Zac’ll take care of it, then you can be on your way.”
“He’s not coming back with us?”
“Naw. He’s never been to Belize so he wants to check it out. He’ll come back when he’s sick of all the tourist crap.” Both men laughed and shook their heads.
“I hear ya’,” the captain said. “There’re only so many T-shirts you can buy,” He glanced at the horizon. “We better get going. I think a storm’s brewing. Hope we can outrun it. I hate like hell being out there during a hurricane.”
Zac’s ears perked up at the words “storm” and “hurricane”. “You expecting one?” That put a whole new slant on things. He’d agreed to the yacht trip, but being on a boat during a storm was something else again.
Captain Tom threw his head back and laughed. He was exactly what you’d expect in a ship’s captain: ruddy complexion; dark commanding eyes; a beard compensating for thinning hair up top; and a boisterous manner that seemed quick to find everything hilarious.
“Relax, Zac,” he said, and thumped him on the back. “You’ll be safe with us.” He motioned to his yacht and a man who stood beside it. “This here’s my first mate, Charlie. Between the two of us, you’re in good hands. I take it you’ve never been sailing?”
Zac nodded. The whole idea which had intrigued him a few hours earlier quickly lost its appeal. “You’re right about that.”
“We’ll make a sailor out of you by the time we hit Belize, you wait and see.” He glanced around, then motioned to his first mate. “Get that trunk on board and we’ll be on our way.”
Watching Charlie struggle to lift the chest and Captain Tom making no effort to help, Zac picked up the other end. Groaning and bumping their way up the ramp, they managed to get it on the boat. Zac shuddered as he thought about his brother inside. He hoped for his sake the drug was still working.
“Charlie, show this landlubber around and give him a quick lesson on what things’re called so I don’t hafta toss him overboard.” He threw his head back, whooping as though what he’d said was side-splittingly funny.
Zac glanced at Charlie to see if he’d joined in. The man wore a pained expression. He’d only known Captain Tom a few minutes and the man was already getting on his nerves. Imagine having to endure unexpected bursts of laughter all day long. The word “mutiny” came to mind.
Charlie looked from Zac to the trunk. “Want this stashed in your stateroom?”
“My what?”
“It’s where you sleep. You want it down there or should I leave it topside?” Before Zac could respond, he said, “Probably best to stow it where you can keep an eye on it, especially if a storm blows. Don’t want it to end up in the Gulf.”
The thought of his younger brother washed out to sea locked inside a steamer trunk gave Zac the willies. “No, that wouldn’t do at all.”
“Okay, then let’s get her below.”
A few moments later Charlie gestured at the space before them. “This here’s the “saloon” where we relax. He indicated an L-shaped settee, flat-screen TV and several comfortable looking easy chairs.
Everything appeared to be bolted in place. Zac didn’t have to be told why. Anything loose in a storm could become a missile capable of injuring someone.
They took a few steps farther inside. “Here’s the kitchen or what’s referred to as the ‘galley’.” A tidy space with cabinets and built-in appliances presented itself. Zac was amazed at how every square inch had been used. There was a stainless steel sink, a refrigerator, range and microwave oven—even a trash compactor. Spotless countertops gleamed.
“Nice,” Zac said and thought about his mom’s kitchen back home which wasn’t nearly as modern.
“Yeah, it is, except when you’re on KP.”
“That your job?”
“Of course. Captain Tom…” he hesitated as if complaining about his boss might not be wise. Then he added, “Yeah, I’m the chief cook and bottle washer on this vessel.” He turned and gestured toward the rear. “The captain’s stateroom’s back there and yours is below. Might as well take the trunk with us.”
Zac didn’t know what he’d expected, but it was nowhere near what he saw. There was a queen-sized platform bed with drawer storage below; lamps for reading and wall lights; cedar-lined lockers adorned one wall; plush carpeting
completed the space.
Charlie pointed to a small side room. “That’s the bathroom—called the ‘head’.”
Zac took a quick look and was again surprised at how clean it looked. It didn’t even stink.
“This where you sleep?” Sharing the room with the first mate would be a problem.
“Only when there’re no paying guests. On trips like this, I sleep on a bunk in the pilothouse.” He glanced at Zac, “That’s where the boat’s…”
“I know,” Zac interrupted. “I’m not a total idiot.”
Charlie gave him a pained smile. “Never took you for one.” As they retraced their steps, he added, “Now, you probably already know this, but…” The engine revved and the boat began to move. “…when you face front, the right side’s ‘starboard’ and the left is ‘port’. The front of the boat is the ‘bow’ and the rear is the ‘stern’. I don’t mean to insult you, but if you call things by the right names, the captain’ll treat you a whole lot better.”
Charlie wasn’t quite finished. “Upstairs is ‘topside’ and the rear—where we got on—is the ‘transom’.” Charlie hesitated, “Oh, and the Bessie Rose is a trawler yacht.”
Zac followed Charlie as he retraced his steps, tossing his words over his shoulder. “It resembles a commercial fishing vessel designed to drag nets called ‘trawls’ behind.” As he reached the steps, he said, “Okay, enough of that. Go topside and relax while I fix lunch.”
As he went on deck, Zac’s head buzzed with the new information: bow, stern, starboard, port, head, galley, stateroom, and, what was the living area called again? Oh yeah, “saloon”—as in a bar. Odd name for a living room, but he guessed that’s where they drank. Then there was: topside, transom, pilothouse and that trawler business.
He sat back in a comfortable deck chair and looked out over the water that stretched blue and calm as far as he could see. Seagulls trailed behind, hoping for a handout. A close look at the surface revealed a pod of some kind of large fish. Cool. He stood and leaned over the edge to get a closer look. “Well I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he said aloud. “They’re dolphins.” He watched until they disappeared from view, then sat back down.
The sun and rocking motion made him sleepy. Remembering all those odd names shouldn’t be that hard, figuring out how to keep Jackson safe and hidden was what mattered. He’d close his eyes just for a moment.
“Hey, Zac.” Charlie shook him. “Lunch’s ready. Have a good nap?”
Zac blinked then remembered where he was. “Uh, yeah, real good.”
“Join the captain.”
“Aren’t you eating with us?”
“Somebody’s gotta be at the helm. Oh, yeah, new word—the ‘helm’s’ the steering gear of a boat. Now go eat while it’s still hot.”
Zac didn’t look forward to sitting across the table from that buffoon, but he had no choice. If the man exploded in laughter one more time, he’d punch him and throw him overboard. Charlie would, no doubt, give him a medal.
“Hey, Captain Tom. How’re you doing?”
The captain nodded, his cheeks bulged as he chewed. “Grab a plate and dig in,” he said from the side of his mouth. “We don’t stand on ceremony around here.” He took a swig from what looked to be a mug of beer. “Food’s good and there’s plenty of it, so don’t be shy.”
Zac didn’t have to be told a second time. His stomach growled as the smell of barbecued beef wafted through the air.
“Charlie teach you a thing or two?”
Zac nodded and swallowed. “He sure knows his stuff, doesn’t he?”
“Wouldn’t be my first mate if he didn’t.”
To Zac, the captain’s response sounded a tad sharp, as though the compliment he’d paid Charlie annoyed him.
“Now you know the difference between a bulkhead and the ship’s hull?”
Bulkhead? Hull? Zac didn’t recall hearing those terms. Taking a big bite of bun dripping with sauce so he wouldn’t have to respond, he nodded as he reviewed what he’d been taught. Those two words weren’t in his lexicon.
“Then tell me, what’s a bulkhead?”
The man was nothing if not persistent. Zac cleared his throat, picked up the mug of beer and took a mouthful. The delay didn’t help. He still didn’t know a bulkhead from a bulwark. The meaning of both escaped him.
“It’s another name for the bathroom?” The inflection in his voice gave away his lack of conviction.
The captain leaned back and howled. “No, idiot, that’s called a head. Bulkheads are walls separating rooms. They prevent water or fire from spreading. Guess Charlie forgot to tell you that.”
“Guess so,” Zac’s temper was beginning to rise. The man was an asshole.
“And where’s a boat’s hull?”
By now Zac had had enough. Setting the mug down, he leaned in and said, “Captain, I don’t give a rat’s ass what or where the boat’s hull is. Topside, backside, upside—sideways—who gives a good shit as long as this damned thing floats. I’m a paying guest. If you want more business from Leon, start treating me with respect.” Then he stopped speaking and waited for the explosion that was sure to follow.
The captain wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and stood.
Zac braced himself anticipating the taste of blood as he got socked in the jaw.
Clearing his throat, Captain Tom said, “Didn’t mean nothing, I was just funnin’ with you. Finish your lunch then go downstairs and take a nap. Forget all this, ain’t important nohow.” He started up the steps then turned and said, “In case anybody asks, the hull’s the outer skin of a boat.”
With the saloon to himself, Zac enjoyed what was left of his meal, proud that he’d stood up to the man. Maybe the rest of the trip wouldn’t be so bad. First he’d go to his stateroom and check on Jackson, then take a nap.
Chapter 61
Making sure the door was firmly closed, Zac took the key to the trunk from his pocket. For a fleeting second he feared it wouldn't work, that Leon had given him the wrong one.
His hand trembled, making it difficult to insert the small piece of metal into the lock. He jiggled it first one way and then the other. Swearing under his breath, he took it back out, wiped it off on his shirt and tried again. This time the heavy lock popped open with a metallic ping.
Looking up to make certain he was alone, Zac lifted the lid and pushed it back. There, lying on his side, was Jackson, still as unconscious as when they’d placed him in the receptacle hours earlier. To Zac he looked peaceful, if a bit cramped. The small box containing water and breakfast bars had not been disturbed. Reassured that his brother was safe, Zac replaced the lid.
He was tempted to leave it unlocked. After all, this was his room for the duration, what could be the harm? A vision of Jackson waking up and going “topside” flashed before him.
Better lock it. He’d check back every few hours to make sure his brother was all right. Till then, with nothing better to do, he sprawled out on the bed for a nap. The combination of sea air and good food serving as a sedative, he was soon fast asleep.
****
A few hours later, Zac was awakened by what sounded like the approach of angry voices and heavy steps. Before he could get to his feet, the door flew back and a white-uniformed officer walked in, followed by a flustered Captain Tom.
“I told you he’s a tourist on his way to Belize.”
“That may very well be, but all the same his room’s on your boat and we’re authorized to search it.”
“You sons a bitches harass me all the time and never find a damned thing.” The captain’s face was beet red.
Zac watched the scene in growing trepidation. What would happen if he opened that trunk?
“Sir, stand aside,” the officer said. The determination in his voice said he meant business.
Zac started to follow the captain out the stateroom door, when the naval officer stopped him.
“What’s in the trunk?”
Zac swallowed hard and thought fast. �
��Just a bunch of clothes and old books. I’m taking them to Belize for a friend.”
“Don’t want to make a liar out of you, but open it and we’ll both be satisfied.” He stood aside.
Zac considered saying he’d lost the key, but the man didn’t appear to be a fool and would only be more determined to get a look. Taking his time, Zac removed the key from his pocket and began to jiggle it back and forth, hoping against hope it wouldn’t open.
“What’s taking you so long?”
“It’s an old lock and hard to open.” Zac said and jiggled it a few more times. Just when he thought the man would give up and be on his way, the lock snapped open.
“Good. Now let’s have a look.”
Zac began to lift the lid as slowly as he dared. A vision of being hauled off in handcuffs danced before him. That’s when he realized getting caught might be a good thing. They’d be finished with Leon and the whole freaking mess—except for Izzie, of course.
As the coast guard officer stepped over to peer inside, the boat lurched, knocking them both off their feet and slamming the lid shut.
“What the hell was that?”
Zac scrambled to his feet and gave the older man a hand. “I don’t know,” he said, and surreptitiously gave the trunk lock a push with his knee. “Oops, I think it locked when I fell.” He looked at the officer, who appeared several steps beyond aggravated. “Want me to unlock it again?”
“Oh forget it,” the man said, his frustration coating each and every syllable.
Zac continued to tremble long after the revving of the boat’s engine replaced the man’s retreating footsteps.
Chapter 62
His heart still thumping, Zac slumped onto the side of the bed. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, his back and under his armpits. The thought of a shower crossed his mind. Before he could act on it, Charlie appeared at the door.