ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE

by Joan Mauch

  “Captain Tom asked if you’d join him in the pilothouse, that is…” a smirk crossed his face, “if it’s convenient.”

  Zac chuckled. “I’ll be right there.”

  “You say something to him?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, he seems to have changed his opinion of you. It’s not that he didn’t like you, he just has a low opinion of anyone associated with Leon.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  Charlie looked as though he’d been caught with his hand in another man’s wallet. “Well, er, ah,” he seemed to cast about for the right words. “I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. It’s just an impression I get whenever we do business with him.”

  Intrigued at the possibility of finding out more about Leon, Zac tried to press Charlie for details.

  “I’m the newest member of Leon’s crew and I don’t know all that much about his operation. Does he do business with you often?”

  Charlie hesitated. “Just once in awhile. Look Captain’s waiting topside. Should I tell him you’ll be up?”

  “No need. I’ll be right there.” Glancing back at the trunk to reassure himself that Jackson would be all right, Zac wondered what the captain wanted. Only one way to find out.

  Opening the door to the pilothouse, Zac found the captain at a control panel, his hands resting on a handsome steering wheel. Leaning back in a comfortable-looking chair, he said, “Well, hey there, Zac.”

  The windows provided a spectacular view. An L-shaped settee and table took up one corner of the space, which Zac assumed converted into the bunk where Charlie slept.

  “So, how’d you make out with that jerk from the Coast Guard?”

  “All right, I guess.”

  “He get a peek inside that trunk?” The captain smirked.

  “I unlocked it for him, but just as he was about to search it, the boat lurched and we lost our balance. The trunk ‘somehow’ got locked again and since it’s hard to unlock, he gave up.” Zac looked at the captain, who appeared almost giddy. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “Moi? Whatever makes you say such a thing? I was here waiting for him to finish and accidentally lost control. Guess that’s what happens when you’re harassed by the Yew-nii-ted States Coast Guard.” He snickered. “Timed it about right, did I?”

  “You really did.”

  “Wonder what would’ve happened if I’d been late.”

  “Guess we’ll never know, will we?”

  “Your boss, that Leon guy, seems to have a lot of friends in Belize. Always sending stuff to them in trunks.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Captain. I’ve only been with him a couple weeks.”

  “Well, you might want to mention what just happened; how I saved his—and your—butts.” Stroking the highly polished wheel fondly, he added, “Maybe he should lay low for a while. I’ll be damned if I’ll lose the Bessie Rose working for the likes of him—even if it does help pay the mortgage on this beauty.”

  “Should I tell him you said so?”

  “No, I’ll mention it next time I see him.”

  “Good idea.” Anxious to change the subject, Zac said, “So how fast we going anyhow?”

  “Twelve knots.” The captain waited for Zac to ask what a knot was, when he didn’t, he added, “It’s the equivalent of twelve point sixty-six miles per hour.”

  Zac nodded, distracted by the beauty of the steering wheel. It looked almost like a work of art.

  Following his glance, the captain said, “This here’s a classic teak yacht wheel. You don’t see one a these on every boat, you know. It’s handcrafted to the highest standards.” Puffing up in obvious pride, he added, “It’s got solid teak spokes and felloes secured with stainless fasteners and holly bungs.”

  Zac realized the captain had deliberately used the terms “felloes” and “holly bungs” knowing he didn’t have a clue what they meant. He’d be damned if he’d ask. They were obviously parts of the wheel; he just didn’t know which parts.

  The captain looked as though he was about to expound when the radio crackled. Zac didn’t get it all, but enough. His fear at the outset of the trip would soon be realized: A big storm was headed their way.

  Chapter 63

  It wasn’t long before a dull lead color replaced the sky’s cobalt blue. A strong wind picked up and the sea began to churn, causing the trawler to heave. Zac’s stomach pitched along with the ever increasing size of the waves. He choked back a surge of vomit.

  “Hey, you don’t look so good. Probably seasick. Why don’t you go ride out the storm in your stateroom? Me and Charlie are used to this. It’ll pass in an hour or so. Go on now.”

  The captain’s sudden kindness took Zac by surprise. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. A sudden downfall flooded the deck. As the boat continued to be tossed in the growing storm, Zac, grasping overhead handrails, made his way down the steps to his stateroom.

  Going to the “head” he promptly disposed of the lunch he’d enjoyed a few hours earlier, then retched a few more times. His head hurt, he felt dizzy, his legs were rubbery. He stretched out on the bed hoping a nap would help. That’s when the boat’s pitching became more violent, sending the trunk sliding across the floor where it crashed into the wall—or as the captain would say, the “bulkhead”.

  Momentarily forgetting how sick he was, Zac hurried to unlock the trunk, hoping Charlie wouldn’t choose this moment to check on him. Wedging himself between the wall and the chest, he pulled up the lid.

  Jackson's bewildered look said it all: Where am I? Zac helped him out of the trunk; between the boat's pitching and his cramped muscles, he could barely stand. "Wh-what the hell?" His raspy voice was little more than a whisper.

  Looking at the door to make sure it remained closed, Zac put a finger to his lips. "Ssh." He motioned Jackson to the bed, then, retrieving the box of rations, opened a bottle of water. "Here, drink this."

  As the boat continued to rock back and forth, Zac lost his balance, spilling the water. "Damn." He retrieved the bottle and offered his brother what was left. "

  Jackson gulped it down then tossed it aside. "What’s going on?"

  Zac folded himself onto the bed. "Leon drugged you. We're on our way to Belize to sell you to his connection. I think that's what he did with Izzie too."

  Jackson's mouth dropped. "I suspected he was a trafficker, but had no idea it was this bad." He started to say something else when there was a knock on the door followed by the first mate's voice. "Zac. You all right?"

  Jackson ducked under a blanket as Zac simultaneously leaned across him. "Uh, yeah, I'm good." He deliberately said it in a voice that made him sound worse than he felt.

  Charlie opened the door. "Thought I heard you moan and wanted to make sure you were still with us. Seasickness can be a bitch, that's for sure." He grasped the doorjamb as the boat made like a roller coaster. "Won't be too much longer; the storm's dying down. Then we'll talk about dinner." He grinned. "Hang in there."

  As he left the room, Zac was horrified to realize Jackson’s foot had been sticking out from under the covers in the first mate’s full view. Whether he’d noticed it or not was anyone’s guess.

  Chapter 64

  The storm finally passed, and Zac awoke the following morning to a calm sea and a growling stomach. He’d eaten so little at supper the previous evening, the first mate had insisted on bringing a tray to his stateroom. Zac gave the bulk of the food to his brother, who’d woofed it down.

  Jackson was to remain in the stateroom, hidden from view under a pile of blankets and pillows. Zac stressed the importance of staying inside with the door closed; that their lives and Izzie’s could very well depend on it. Faced with the prospect of going back into the steamer trunk for the balance of the trip, he readily agreed.

  “I see you’re none the worse for having survived your first storm.” The captain set his mug on the table as his guest joined him. “Charlie said you were pretty sick last night.”

>   “You can say that again. Could hardly keep a thing down.”

  “And yet you managed to eat what he sent on that there tray.” The captain inclined his head toward the dirty dishes.

  Busted. Zac hadn’t expected the captain to notice. “Yeah, well, as the night wore on, my stomach settled and I got hungry. It was nice of Charlie to do that.”

  “Yeah, that it was.” The captain stuffed a bite of sausage in his mouth and chewed.

  Eager to change the subject, Zac said, “So where are we?”

  “Still on the Gulf. Late tonight we pass through the Yucatan Channel.” Without waiting for Zac to ask, he added, “It connects the Gulf with the Caribbean.”

  “Oh,” was all Zac could think to say.

  “Look, you might as well know where you’re headin’. There’s an atlas on the shelf.” He motioned toward a built-in bookcase. “You should learn something about Belize too, seeing as how you’ll be visiting there a few days.”

  After breakfast, Zac took the captain’s advice and pulled out the collection of maps. The passage from the Gulf to the Caribbean was through the Yucatan Channel or Straits of Yucatan, though, as the literature pointed out, it was neither long enough to be a channel nor narrow enough to be a strait. What intrigued him most was that the channel separated Mexico and Cuba. Damn, they’d be passing through in the dead of night. Oh well, they’d probably only see water anyway. Still, to be that close and sleep through it gnawed at him.

  Anxious to spend time on deck, he grabbed a book on Central America and headed up the steps. From the little he read, Zac learned that Belize was in Central America, bordering the Caribbean Sea, between Guatemala and Mexico. He hadn’t realized what a young country it was. It had been a British colony till 1981. Guatemala refused to recognize it as a nation until 1992. With an area slightly smaller than Massachusetts, as of 2011 the country’s entire population was only about 321,000. Zac was amazed. Somehow he thought Belize was larger.

  He glanced up, relieved to see a sky void of clouds and a gently rolling sea. Now that’s the way to sail. He prayed there’d be no more storms between now and their arrival the following day. That’s when his real work would begin. How the hell could he keep track of his brother without endangering them both?

  Despite his overwhelming concerns—or perhaps because of them—Zac nodded off only to be awakened half an hour later by the captain. “Ya hungry? I know I am.”

  Over a lunch of clam chowder, freshly baked bread and salad, the two men fed their faces, ignoring the fact they’d had a sumptuous breakfast only a few hours earlier.

  “Sailing stimulates the appetite, that’s for damned sure. When you’re out here, if you’re not careful you’ll end up with one of these.” Captain Tom patted his ample belly. “No time for exercise on a boat. Seems like all I do is eat, sleep and steer.”

  His mouth full of the tasty stew, Zac nodded.

  “So, what’d you learn about Belize?” The captain pushed away from the table, a mug of beer in his hand.

  “Well, let see. For one thing, I was surprised to find out that they speak English and…”

  “Yeah,” the captain interrupted, “their version is a mix of Kriol and English. It’s kinda hard to understand till you get used to it. For example, if you want to say, ‘What’s your name?’ You’d say, ‘Weh yu nayhn?’ ‘Good morning’ is ‘Gud maanin’.”

  Zac could tell that, as usual, the captain was enjoying himself at his expense. “Know what ‘Da how yu di du?’ means?”

  Zac gave him a blank stare.

  “It means ‘How are you?’. Oh, here’s one you’ll need: ‘How much does this cost?’ say, ‘Humoch dis kaas?’ He let off one of those explosive laughs Zac detested, then said, “Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine. What else did you learn?”

  “That you can use the dollar, without having to exchange it for local money.” Zac continued, “and if you need help, dial 90—that connects you to the police.”

  “Planning on getting in trouble?” The captain’s eyes twinkled. He leaned in and said, “Just watch yourself. Belize has tourist attractions which are amazing, but there are places you want to avoid. Take Belize City, for example, there are gangs and drugs. Most of the murders involve one or both. Now don’t get me wrong. There are really nice areas where people with money live. Just don’t get mixed up with the others, that’s all I’m sayin’. And if you’re under the impression the police’ll come runnin’ to your rescue, you got another think comin’.

  “Now, if you’re looking for a good time, go to one of them bars in San Pedro Town on Ambergris Caye. By the way, just so you know, it’s pronounced ‘key’ so don’t go calling it ‘kay’ and looking all stupid.

  “We’re dropping you a few miles north of there, so ask any taxi driver. They’ll know where to take you.” He stood, stretched and yawned, “Gotta get back to the helm.” He glanced at Zac, but made no effort to explain the term. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

  Zac watched as the captain went up the steps to the pilothouse. Glancing around, he took a napkin and wrapped it around several slices of bread then filled his empty bowl with a generous helping of stew. He was about to leave the table when Charlie came bounding down the steps.

  “Hey, if you’re still hungry, there’s more on the stove.”

  Startled to be discovered pilfering, Zac said, “Naw. I’m going to read awhile in my stateroom and wanted a snack in case I get hungry. Lunch was sure good.”

  “Help yourself. There’s more where that came from.” Charlie’s face wore an odd expression. “Want me to help with the door?” Before Zac could object, he opened it.

  Zac held his breath. How could he explain Jackson’s presence and stop him from reporting it to Captain Tom?

  Frantically glancing at the bed, expecting to find Jackson smack dab in the middle of it, Zac was surprised to see not only was the room empty, but the bed was neatly made. What the hell was going on? And where was his brother?

  Charlie stood watching Zac, his hand on the doorknob. “Something wrong?”

  “Uh, no,” Zac rubbed his forehead. “Just a headache. Guess it takes awhile to recover from seasickness.”

  “I think there’s aspirin in the head, let me check.” Zac started to say he’d do it himself, when Charlie crossed the room and pushed the door back.

  Zac thought his heart would stop beating right then and there. Jackson was probably on the toilet taking care of business. He almost dropped the stew and bread he’d been holding. Stepping over to the chest of drawers, he set the food down, eased onto the bed and waited.

  “Yep, there’s a whole bottle in the cabinet. I thought I’d left some but wanted to be sure. Take a couple and have yourself a long nap. Headache’ll be gone before you know it.” Nodding at Zac, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter 65

  With the beat of his heart pounding in his ears, Zac waited a few seconds to make sure the first mate had gone before searching for Jackson. Where could he be? The stateroom wasn’t big enough to hold many hiding places.

  He checked the trunk first. Nope, not there. The only other place he could think of was the shower stall. With the door open, it was almost hidden. That had to be it—he’d plastered himself against the wall. Zac crossed the room and looked inside. All he found was the drip of a leaky showerhead.

  That’s when panic set in. Where the hell was he? He had to be around there somewhere. He was about to search the galley, the captain’s stateroom, the saloon—even the engine room, when a cabinet door slowly opened and his brother unfolded onto the floor.

  “What the hell?” Zac said, his voice louder than he intended. Then in a stage whisper, he added, “You scared the pants off me.”

  Jackson gave him a shit-eating grin. “I was on the bed when I heard you guys coming. It was the closest place I could think to hide. Good thing I’m so limber.”

  Zac nodded. “There’s some food. It’s probably cold, but better than nothing.”


  Jackson didn’t need to be told a second time. He spooned the stew, sopping up the remnants with chunks of bread. “That guy’s a good cook,”

  “You’re right, but anything would taste good to you about now.” Zac watched as his brother finished eating. “Look, we gotta talk. Cover yourself part way in case one of them pokes their nose in.”

  When Jackson was settled, Zac continued. “Tomorrow around noon, we dock at Ambergris Caye where Leon’s contact gets the trunk. After that, it’ll be up to me to find you— and Izzie, assuming she’s still in Belize.” Heaving a heavy sigh, Zac hesitated, then said, “Look, Jackson, why don’t we just ditch this whole thing? We could load the trunk with something heavy, and get away before they realize you’re gone.”

  “What about Izzie? Do we just give up on her? Let her rot in some hellhole for the rest of her life? That what you’re sayin’?”

  “Jackson, I don’t know how this is gonna turn out. What if I can’t find you? Then what?”

  “Then I’ll just have to deal with it, won’t I?”

  Zac noticed Jackson’s chin go firm, the way it always did when he’d made up his mind about something. Once that happened, he realized there was nothing he could say or do to change it. He reached in his pocket and handed Jackson the pocketknife his dad had given him when he graduated high school. Since it was the only thing he had from his father, he treasured it and always carried it with him.

  “Here, take this—use it then call my cell and I’ll come get you. Meantime I’ll do everything I can to find you.” His voice trembled, he swallowed and lowered his head. “But in case I can’t…”

  Jackson patted his hand. “It’s all right, I know. I love you too. If I don’t make it, tell Mom I love her.”

  Blinking back tears, Zac said, “I’ll get you out of this if it’s the last thing I do.”

  With nothing more to say, they hugged for the first time since they were kids. Zac hoped against hope things would turn out all right.