ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE

by Joan Mauch

  Inclining his head toward Izzie, he added, “Sid gets his property back.”

  Izzie began first to whimper and then to cry. “No, please. I can’t go back there, please don’t make me.”

  “You, bitch, stop blubbering. I thought you knew your place before I sold you. Do I gotta teach you again?” He raised his hand to strike her, when Charlie interrupted.

  “That’s not necessary, Mo. I’ll take her back and make sure she understands that if she stops rebelling, she can begin to enjoy life. I mean, that resort isn’t exactly a slum.”

  Facing Charlie, Zac shouted, “You goddamned son of a bitch, I trusted you. Thought you were my friend.”

  “And I thought you were mine,” Mo interjected. “Guess we were both wrong. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. Charlie, you take the girl and we’ll take these two morons.” The expression on his face said he meant it.

  The brute of a man who’d been silent all this time pulled out a gun and pointed it at Zac and Jackson. As he headed toward the door, Jackson turned and let go a pop to Charlie’s nose.

  “Ow.” Charlie yelped as blood gushed down the front of his pale blue shirt. “Son of a bitch, you broke my nose.”

  Mo slugged Jackson as the thug with the pistol kept it trained on Zac, preventing him from joining the melee.

  “Let’s get outta here before someone calls the cops,” Mo said, forcing Jackson to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said, “we don’t got all night.”

  Izzie’s screams and the vision of her being dragged from the room reverberated inside Jackson long after pain from the blow subsided. As he and Zac returned to the site from which he’d so recently been rescued, fear for her fate overwhelmed concern for his own—a prospect so bleak that to say it was hopeless would, in truth, be accurate.

  Chapter 77

  Zac yanked the shackles binding his hands and feet, causing the chain to scrape the cement floor.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Give it a rest, will you?” Jackson said. “You’re not going to accomplish anything that way.”

  “Oh no? Well it’s better than just sitting here. At least I’m making an effort to get us outta here. That’s more than you’re doing.”

  “And what’ll your so-called ‘efforts’ get us? Huh? Another beating, that’s what. You forget I’ve been through this before.”

  “So you’re giving up, that it?”

  “Hell no, but I’d prefer to pick my battles than go off half-cocked. You swearing and rattling those chains will get us exactly nowhere, and possibly annoy Mo to the point he’ll put a bullet through our brains.”

  Zac was exasperated not only with his brother’s apparent admission of defeat, but by his own failure to save them. He’d managed to rescue Izzie and Jackson only to put his trust in the wrong person and they’d landed right back where they started from. Only now it was worse. At least before, Jackson and Izzie had someone on the outside fighting to save them. Now there was no one. A paralyzing despair overtook him.

  “I’m so sorry, I …”

  Jackson interrupted him. “Sorry? For what? You risked everything to rescue me and Izzie—a woman you don’t even know. And if it hadn’t been for Charlie, you would have succeeded too. Damn, what a dickhead he turned out to be. Who woulda thought a guy that appeared so decent would turn out to be no better than those traffickers? You just never know...”

  “Man, you got that right. I thought Charlie was a stand-up guy. I mean, he was cool on the yacht, always helping me avoid problems with Captain Tom. God, how could I have been so stupid to trust him like that?” Zac pounded his fist, banging his shackles on the floor.

  “Stop. They’ll hear you. Zac, I don’t want another beating.”

  “Okay, Okay. I’ll be quiet. Let’s see if we can grab some shuteye before they decide what to do with us. If you get any bright ideas, let me know.”

  “You do the same,” Jackson said.

  The two men twisted and turned trying to find the least uncomfortable position they could and get some badly needed rest. Before long, Jackson began to snore while Zac remained wide awake, trying to plan his next move.

  A few hours later, Zac had finally dozed off, his head resting at an odd angle against the concrete-block wall. At the sound of heavy footsteps, he awoke with a start. Forgetting his chained-up condition, he wrenched his shoulder as he jerked awake.

  “Jackson, wake up, someone’s coming,” he said in a loud whisper.

  As his brother began to stir, the light came on and Mo entered, trailed by a man Zac had never seen. At about six feet tall, the guy had a boxer’s build: thick neck, bald head, and muscles that bulged under his T-shirt. His eyes were reminiscent of a pit bull’s—cold, calculating and lifeless.

  “Here they are, like I told you—two worthless pieces of shit. The faster someone can take them off my hands, the better.”

  The man stood eyeing Zac and Jackson as if they were slabs of meat.

  Pointing to Jackson, he said, “Stand up.”

  Zac realized it was a good thing he was in chains. He would have decked the guy but the man’s physique told him he’d get the losing end of a fight. Still, Jackson standing there, his head bowed in submission while the guy looked him up and down made his blood run cold.

  “I’ll take him,” the man said.

  “What about the other one? I’ll let him go real cheap. In fact you can have two for the price of one. Think of it as a fire sale.”

  The man scratched his head. “I don’t know, you seem awful anxious to be rid of him. What’d he do, kill somebody?”

  “Naw, nothing like that. He’s just a little wild. I’m sure you can break him after a few bouts in the ring with some of your boys. Once you get him trained, he’ll work for you real good. I just don’t have the time or patience to mess with it, that’s all.”

  “Stand up so I can have a look.”

  In spite of himself and realizing there’d be a price to pay, Zac stayed put.

  “Boy. You hear me? Get on your feet. Do as I say.”

  Zac raised his chin. “I’m not a boy. I’ll get up when I damned well feel like it.”

  The man looked at Mo and said, “You’re not kidding, this one’s gonna take some working over.” With that he leaned over and yanked Zac to his feet. “You’ll do what you’re told, if you know what‘s good for you.”

  Zac was about to let the man know exactly what he thought of him, but not wanting a blow to the head, he bit his tongue and let his eyes stare holes through the bastard.

  The man got in Zac’s face. “Better lose the attitude if you know what’s good for you. Keep that up and you won’t live long enough to have your spirit broken.”

  Turning to Mo, he said, “Oh all right, I’ll take them both.

  Chapter 78

  Tiny's barking woke Leon from a pleasurable dream, the first he'd had in a long time. He usually had nightmares populated with Seymour's thugs taking him on a one-way trip across the Sunshine Bridge. This one featured Izzie and had something to do with a trip to the beach, the foggy details dredging up feelings he thought he'd finally overcome.

  Dragging himself from the soft cocoon of a bed, he glanced at the clock and headed for the door. It was four in the morning. Damned dog. He'd let the mutt out when they went to bed a few hours ago. Maybe Tiny was riled because the product ended up spending the night. He tried handing the girls off within a few hours of their arrival, preferred it that way—less risk. Tonight had been different. Client couldn't make it, so he'd had to adjust. That's what this business was all about—adjusting.

  Tiny barked again, more frantically. Dog'd better adjust or he'd do it for him.

  As he went down the hall, his bare feet made slapping sounds on the hardwood floor. Tiny's continuous barking morphed into the menacing growls he made when strangers approached. Odd. Leon was nearly to the bottom of the stairs and prepared to give the dog what-for, when there was a series of knocks on the door followed by what sounded like a vo
ice on a bullhorn.

  "Leon Donatello. Police. Open up."

  Before he could move, the door flew back compliments of a battering ram. Leaping down the remaining steps, Leon turned to run out the back, but was stopped by police wielding guns and nightsticks.

  Tiny, beside himself with fury, threw his substantial body at the cops—barking, snapping and baring his teeth. Before he could sink his teeth into the fatty part of the closest man’s thigh, he was felled by a single shot from a Taser gun.

  In the meantime, Leon was ordered to: "Get on the floor. Now. Hands above your head. Spread your legs. Move and we’ll shoot."

  There were so many orders, so many voices, and so many cops. Tiny, who had begun to recover was put on a leash.

  “Where’re the girls?” The policeman was hefty; muscles bulged beneath the short sleeves of his uniform. His scalp was visible under what little hair he had, making his stern expression even more threatening.

  “Uh, what girls?” Leon lay on his stomach, the man’s foot was planted firmly on his back, making speech difficult.

  Digging in his heel, the cop said, “This can go down easy or hard, doesn’t matter to me. Either way I’ll get what I’m after. What’s it gonna be?”

  “I can’t breathe,” Leon gasped.

  The policeman removed his foot. “Roll over and sit up. Try anything funny, you’ll regret it.”

  As he struggled to get upright, Leon could hear police tramp their way through the house, opening and slamming doors. His hands and feet were bound; there was nothing he could do but wait. Those fools’ll never find the bunker. Good thing he’d put the product down there for the night. Yeah, they’d have to get up mighty early to outsmart him.

  “Okay, start talking, I ain’t got all night.” The cop pulled Leon to his feet and slammed him onto a dining room chair.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Me and the dog are the only ones here. You don’t believe me, go search with the rest. I’ll be surprised if you find something, believe me.” Leon gave the man his most innocent look—the one he’d spent hours practicing.

  The cop put his face inches from Leon’s. Wearing an exasperated expression he growled, “Where’re those women who came in the back way a few hours ago? Don’t say they left because we’ve been watching the house—front and back. Unless you got a tunnel under …” He stopped and watched Leon’s eyes flick from the bookcase to the floor and back. “That’s it. You hide them under the house. That’s why we can never find them. I’ll be damned.

  “All right, Leon, how do we get down there?” When Leon just stared at the floor, he bellowed, “Tell me, damn it.”

  In spite of his efforts at self control, Leon jumped. He hadn’t expected the man to shout so loud.

  “Down where? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “My ass you don’t. You got those girls stashed under the house and you know it. Now you gonna tell me how to get down there or do I have to beat it outta you?” The fury in the man’s face said he meant business.

  Leon shifted in the chair and tried again. “Pardon me, sir, but you know as well as I do houses in Florida don’t have no basements. What makes you think this one’s any different?”

  The policeman guffawed, then said. “Guess you don’t read the paper, dude. Couple years ago a bunker was found over in Drew Park. Guy grew weed down there. Now if he could do that … You see where I’m goin’ with this?”

  Leon could see clearly where the cop was going and he didn’t like it. How’d he manage to figure out the house had a fallout shelter? He didn’t appear that smart. What should he do now? Come clean and hope for the best? Or keep denying it? Maybe they wouldn’t find the entrance and give up. It was, after all, hidden behind that bookcase. Who’d think to look there?

  “I’m sorry, officer, I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Have it your way—and call me ‘sergeant’.” He turned and shouted, “Down here, they’re under the house. Tear the place down if you have to.”

  Heavy boots tramped down the steps in such a rush Leon thought the old staircase might collapse. When the men assembled on the first floor, the sergeant said, “He’s got them hidden under the house in some kinda bunker. Question is where’s the entrance? He’s not talking so I guess we’ll have to knock walls down till we find it. Get going.”

  Leon shuddered. The man meant business. Still doubting he’d be able to find the secret staircase, he held fast. Approximately twenty minutes and multiple plaster holes later, one of the men shouted, “It’s behind the bookcase.”

  Leon’s heart sank. Seymour would not be happy.

  Chapter 79

  Neither Jackson nor Zac made a sound. The men, guns drawn, muscled them into a van conveniently parked outside the unit. The deserted parking lot dashed any hope of the possibility a passerby might intervene. Zac’s spirits were lower than they had ever been. Every avenue of escape was now beyond their reach.

  They were looking at a life—whatever was left of it—of slavery. The words were foreign to Zac’s ears. After all, he was an American. Things like this didn’t happen to U.S. citizens. Besides this was the twenty-first century. Slavery? Him—a slave? He couldn’t get his mind around it. Forced to work for nothing—the rest of his life?

  He’d prefer to kill himself than go on like that day after day, year after year. But what about Jackson? If he committed suicide, his brother’d be left to deal with the situation alone. He couldn’t do that to him. No, he’d stick it out and somehow they’d eventually get free.

  He glanced at his brother who stared at the floor. He leaned over and elbowed him, causing Jackson to let out an involuntary yelp. The gunman, startled at the sudden commotion, pointed his weapon at Jackson’s head and said, “Go on, try something.”

  Regretting his spontaneous and potentially dangerous action, Zac’s eyes caught Jackson’s in an apologetic glance. His stupid behavior could have gotten them both killed.

  He settled with his back to the side of the van, his body bouncing along over endless potholes. His mind went to Izzie, Jackson’s reporter friend. It was obvious he cared about her. Look how much he’d risked: his job and now his very life. Was she worth it? Zac had no idea. Jackson apparently thought so. But then he always was softhearted, even as a kid, always sticking up for the underdog and sometimes getting a good beating for his trouble.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to Izzie right now. She was, no doubt, being severely punished for attempting to escape. Even if she survived, the life she faced was a horror beyond imagining. And she had no one to keep her going. At least he and Jackson had each other. By the time they escaped—if they managed to—God only knows where she’d be or if she’d even still be alive.

  Chapter 80

  Twenty minutes later, Zac, who’d dozed off, awoke with a start at a slight blow from the butt-end of a gun. Blinking rapidly, he could see the silhouette of the man yanking Jackson from the van.

  “You. Get out.” The man who’d ridden with them in the back called to Zac, adding, “He’s a snorer.”

  Zac was about to protest that he’d never snored a day in his life, when the man motioned with the gun and said, “We don’t got all day.”

  The moon through the clouds provided just enough light for Zac to see. They were near the Ocean, that much was certain. It sparkled in the moonlight and made lapping sounds as waves hit the shore. Directly in front of them was some kind of planking leading out over water. Suddenly he realized what it was; they were parked beside a pier.

  Alarm bells tolled inside as he began to understand what their captors planned: They were being taken out of the country. He panicked. What if they ended up in Eastern Europe or, hell, he didn’t know. Russia? Iran? He grabbed Jackson’s arm and said, “Let’s go.” They had only gone about ten steps when the brutish man who’d driven the van knocked him out with a single punch.

  Chapter 81

  “Time to get
up, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Zac blinked awake. His head ached, his mind was so jumbled he couldn’t make sense of anything. Where was he? He remembered going to Belize with Jackson in a trunk and rescuing Izzie. But something had gone terribly wrong. Oh yeah, now he remembered. Charlie, his good friend, had ratted them out and Mo sold them to a couple of thugs.

  A motor revved; there was a rocking motion. He must be on a boat. His heart sank. Was Jackson all right or had his efforts earned him yet another beating? Someone shook him. He didn’t want to open his eyes; didn’t want to know what was in store.

  “Zac. Zac. Wake up.” Someone imitating Jackson slapped his cheeks. “C’mon, bro,” the voice pleaded.

  That’s when the heavens opened along with Zac’s eyes. The tableau in front of him was something from a dream. Peering down at him was his brother—not an impostor, but his very own flesh and blood, pain-in-the-ass sibling. And next to him wearing a worried, almost maternal expression, stood Izzie. Izzie? Now he knew he was hallucinating.

  Zac rubbed his aching head and tried to sit up. “What the…” He couldn’t make sense of it: First they’re betrayed by that son of a bitch Charlie; then they’re held in chains and sold off as slaves. He’s decked when he tries to escape. And now? Had the guy at the resort decided Izzie was too much trouble and sold her to these bozos? Were all three of them headed to some foreign country? If so, why did Jackson and Izzie look so happy?

  “Zac, it’s okay.” His brother sounded confident, reassuring. Unusual for him. He was a worrier, always thinking about consequences. Zac was the one who flew by the seat of his pants, getting in trouble. Please God, let it be true. Let this nightmare finally be over.

  And there it was. Izzie and Jackson, eyes brimming with tears, bending over him, hugging him, laughing.