Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1)

by Fernando Gamboa

  A wave of deep, dark anger washed over him, making him see the man as the personification of all the demons that had been harassing him for a lifetime. The car salesman on top of his wife, the fascists he fought for years, even Agent Smith, who that very night had threatened to kill him and everyone close to him. He was the oversized straw that broke the camel’s back.

  Riley put pressure on the trigger, tensing the muscles of his forearm, ready to blow the bastard’s head off, come what may. The official felt Riley’s determination and twitched as a few beads of sweat ran down his forehead.

  “Don’t do it,” Carmen insisted. “He didn’t do anything to you.”

  Her calm tone made him hesitate. The official sensed it and let out a breath.

  “Alex,” Carmen insisted, going closer to him, “please put down the weapon.”

  Riley felt doubt coming in, and he realized killing the man would only lead to terrible consequences. “Okay,” he said, holstering his gun in the djellaba without taking his eyes off the official.

  “Well done,” the man said arrogantly. “Now, no one leave until I say, or until—”

  Riley threw the point of his right boot at the official’s testicles and gave them a kick that caused the man to curl up in a ball, moaning in pain and too winded to shout.

  “Alex, no!” Carmen yelled, putting her hands to her face.

  Riley bent over the official’s ear. “That,” he whispered, “was for calling her a slut and a whore.” He stood up. “And this”—he punched him hard in the temple, knocking him out—“is for everything else.”

  Carmen kneeled down and took the official’s pulse before looking up at Riley and shaking her head. “What’d you do?” she hissed, looking at him like he was a madman. “What’d you do?”

  “He’s just unconscious.”

  “But why? Why did you hit him?”

  “I told you. We have to go.”

  “You don’t get it, huh?” she said, stepping toward him, furious. “You have no idea what you just did.” She shoved him. “You’ve ruined me!”

  “You’re wrong, I didn’t—”

  “I’m wrong?” she yelled. “You knocked out the military governor, moron! How am I wrong?”

  Riley lifted his hands, trying to calm her down. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “How doesn’t it matter?” She pushed him again. “He’ll think it’s my fault!” She looked at the military man grimly. “He’ll make me pay,” she said. “That bastard will make me pay badly.”

  “Carmen, listen to me,” Riley said, trying to hold her wrists. “You have to come with me.”

  She jerked away, and her robe fell to reveal one of her breasts, but she was too furious to notice. “You’re crazy!” she yelled, taking a step back. “I thought you’d be different, but you’re just like all the others. You think ’cause I sleep with you I’m your property. Listen closely,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not today, not ever. And I want you to leave right now and never come back.”

  “It’s not what you think, Carmen,” he insisted. “I came to save you.”

  She laughed. “Save me? Do you know how many men have wanted to save me? What do you want to save me from, Alex? Living in sin? Fucking whoever I want? Being a free woman? Not having a man to tell me what to do and what not to do?”

  Before Riley could answer, there was a loud bang and the sound of busting wood downstairs. “From them,” he said in her ear as he took her by the waist with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. “I came to save you from them, damn it.”

  Trying to keep from making the slightest sound, Riley looked out the window to find the same three Moroccans who had tortured him. He couldn’t see Smith, but the agent couldn’t be too far.

  He quickly turned to Carmen, who looked worried. She was an experienced woman, smart, clever, and adaptable, but this was beyond even her. In a matter of minutes, a seemingly trustworthy lover had broken into her house, attacked a client who wanted to ruin her life, and, before she could figure out why, strangers were breaking in to her sacred refuge, where no one had ever entered uninvited.

  “What’s happening?” was all she could say.

  “Is there another exit?” Riley said.

  “What?”

  “I’m asking if there’s another exit. They’ll see us in the window, and they’ll be inside as soon as they break the door down. We have to escape.”

  “But why? Who are those men?”

  “There’s no time to explain.” He took her by the shoulders. “I need to know if there’s another way out of the house.”

  Carmen blinked, overwhelmed. “There’s a . . . a back door,” she murmured.

  “Then let’s go!” Riley whispered urgently, grabbing his backpack with one hand and her with the other.

  “Hold on,” Carmen said, pulling away. “Can’t you see I’m just wearing a robe? I have to get dressed!”

  “There’s no time!”

  “And my money? Documents?” she went on, looking around. “I can’t leave it all here!”

  Understanding her bewildered logic, Riley took a deep breath and, managing the best smile he could with his swollen face, tried to speak calmly. “Carmen, we’ll get you new clothes and documents and whatever else you need. But now we have to leave, because those men are here to kill us. When we’re safe,” he said, gently taking her hand, “I swear I’ll explain everything. But now I need you to trust me.” He put his hand on his chest. “Please.”

  After an instant in which she seemed to reorder her thoughts and priorities, Carmen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay,” she said as the door downstairs split, “follow me.”

  Her bare feet slapped against the steps leading to the courtyard. Riley followed, barely able to keep up because of his injuries.

  He got a glimpse of the front door on their way, and saw the assailants had made a hole in the wood. A sinewy hand was groping for the bolt. He thought of shooting to scare them, but realized he wouldn’t gain much other than putting them on guard and calling the attention of the police, which would be a problem with the governor upstairs. Also, Carmen wasn’t slowing down. She rushed into a small doorway in the corner of the patio and disappeared into a dreary room.

  Riley went in after her, closed the door, and found himself surrounded by darkness. “Carmen,” he whispered, “where . . . ?”

  A match flared in front of his face.

  “Shh.”

  She brought the match to an oil lamp, which illuminated the room. It had a cot in the corner, some furniture, a painting of Mecca with some Koran suras, and a few personal items.

  “It’s Fátima’s,” Carmen said. “She’s in Chefchaouen visiting her family.” Crossing the room, she drew a latch, opened a door, and stepped into a narrow corridor.

  Riley followed the lamp like a moth and closed the door behind him again, thinking it would take the men at least five minutes to find it. Enough time to get away and hide.

  “Let’s go,” Carmen said. “Don’t be so slow.”

  Riley coughed in pain as he ran behind her through the narrow, winding passage.

  After fifty yards, another door blocked their path. Carmen turned out the lamp first and opened the door with caution. She looked out and closed it again. “There are people,” she whispered. “Vendors setting up their stalls.”

  “And?”

  “And? I’m practically naked! I’d get too much attention.”

  “Oh, of course. Take my djellaba,” he said, pulling it off.

  Carmen reluctantly held it, looking it over.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like the color?”

  Carmen glared at him. “You have a lot of explaining to do . . .” she muttered, covering herself in the ridiculously large robe.

  “As soon as we’re safe,” he said, helping her tuck her long hair into the hood, “I’ll tell you all I know, though honestly it isn’t much.”

  “Is it obvious I’m not a man?” she a
sked, opening her arms.

  “You look beautiful.”

  She looked at her feet, covered by the long fabric. Then she looked at him from under the hood, which covered most of her face. “I’ll kill you for this,” she said.

  She opened the door and went out into the street.

  36

  At that early hour there were few people in the street, increasing their chances of standing out. Luckily, the occupants were street vendors, too busy preparing their stalls to notice them. Riley could have been just one of the many foreigners in Tangier, accompanied by another, smaller man in an oversized djellaba.

  “Why don’t we go to a hotel?” Carmen asked as they walked quickly.

  “That’s the first place they’d look for us,” Riley answered. “You have to register, and someone could recognize you and tip them off. Can’t take that risk.”

  Carmen paused and asked the burning question: “Who’s looking for me, Alex?”

  “They’re looking for us, but I don’t know exactly who—just that they want to kill us.”

  “Are they the ones who messed up your face?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  Riley looked around. “It’s a long story.”

  Carmen seemed to think the words over before asking matter-of-factly, “So where are you taking me? To your boat?”

  “The Pingarrón’s gone,” he said. “But there’s an old inn near the port where I’ve stayed before. They won’t ask questions.”

  “That’s on the other side of the medina,” she said, pulling him. “The other way.”

  “I know, I’d prefer to make a circle. More difficult for them to follow us.”

  “Walking around the city at daybreak is dangerous too.”

  “Of course,” Riley said, “but right now I don’t have a better plan.”

  “I do.”

  “What?” Riley turned toward her; she’d stopped in the middle of the street.

  “I have friends, Alex,” she said. “Trustworthy people who would take us in without asking questions.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s better than following you around.”

  Riley grimaced. “Great, and do they live far away?”

  She pointed to an intersection on the left. “One lives right there.” She started hurrying toward it.

  “Wait,” he called.

  But before he could do anything, she was going down the alley, her feet slapping on the paving stones.

  Standing in the shadow of a dark wooden door with a complex geometric border, Carmen and Riley waited for someone to respond to their knocks. The narrow passage they were in looked deserted, and they heard no footsteps or voices of anyone who could be watching them. Still, the Pingarrón’s captain kept on the lookout with all his senses alert.

  Maybe that was why he flinched when he heard the sharp clang of metal on the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable sound of a bolt being pulled back. The door squeaked on its hinges as it opened a little, and a tired-looking man of about fifty with messy gray hair and large bags under his droopy olive eyes peeped out. Riley thought he was looking at a cross between a human and a basset hound.

  “Who are you?” he grumbled, scrutinizing them warily in the light of a candle. “What do you want?”

  Carmen pulled her hood back, and his expression changed immediately.

  “Carmen!” he burst out, transforming instantly into another person. “So happy to see you!” He looked back and forth between her and Riley before asking in a more dramatic tone, “What are you doing here so early? Is everything okay?”

  “I have a problem, and I need your help, Julio. Can we come in?”

  “God, yes. Come on in.” He opened the door and waved them inside.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Oh, and this is Alex. He’s with me.”

  “You’re welcome,” Julio said with a bow. “A friend of Carmen is a friend of mine.”

  Riley acknowledged him with a slight nod and glanced back at the alley to make sure no one was following them.

  Once they were inside and the door was closed, Riley could see he was in a small but lavishly decorated room. Its walls were covered with colorful impressionistic paintings with a flair that suggested the same artist was behind them all. Julio put the candle on the tea table in the center of the room and looked at them, silently waiting for one of them to explain the reason for the unexpected visit.

  Carmen, however, simply dropped down on one of the piles of cushions that lined all four walls and heaved a deep sigh of relief. She closed her eyes like she intended to sleep right there.

  Julio looked at Riley’s battered face but didn’t ask.

  “Don’t worry,” Riley said. “It’s not contagious.”

  He smiled. “Julio Villalobos.” He offered his hand.

  “Alex Riley.” He returned the smile and they shook.

  “English?”

  “American.”

  “Friend of Carmen’s?”

  “Maybe,” Riley said, looking at her—only some of her hair and her toes stuck out of the djellaba—“or maybe not anymore.”

  “Got it.”

  A minute of uncomfortable silence passed before she sat up on the soft carpet and kneeled, inviting the two men to do the same. All her confusion and exhaustion seemed miraculously gone.

  “I’m very sorry to disturb you, Julio,” she said, taking his hand. “I need a place to hide, and I thought you could take us in for a few hours.”

  He nodded reverently. “However long you need, sweetie. But I’d like you to explain what’s going on.”

  Carmen took a breath before answering, making a clear effort not to get angry. “Well, the great Captain Alex Riley here appeared in the window of my room an hour ago. He came in my house without my permission, attacked a guest, and dragged me half-naked to the street, while some men broke into my house who are, according to him,” she added skeptically, pointing at Riley, “trying to kill me.”

  “What do you mean, ‘according to him’?” Riley said. “You don’t believe me? If you’re not sure, why don’t you go back and ask?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “I just saved your life.”

  “You just ruined my life,” she said. “I’ll never forgive you.”

  “A thank-you would be enough.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t understand, do you? Thanks to you I’ve lost everything. Everything!” She regained control of herself. “I’ll be lucky not to end up in a dungeon, or as a whore in a legionnaire brothel.”

  Riley put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Don’t even think about touching me,” she hissed.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “I’m really sorry about what I did to the fat guy. I . . . I lost control, and I’m really sorry. But believe me when I say the people we really need to worry about are ourselves. Look at me, Carmen, please.”

  After a few seconds, she looked up reluctantly.

  “They’re the ones who did this to me,” Riley said, pointing to his face. “They would have killed me if I hadn’t escaped. And they would have killed you too if I hadn’t shown up at your house to ruin your life. I give you my word that I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other choice.”

  Carmen looked into his eyes.

  “I believe him,” Julio butted in unexpectedly. “I have no idea what he’s talking about, but your friend seems sincere.”

  Carmen thanked him for his comment with a glare. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s say they were coming to kill me, or us. Why?”

  Riley scratched the scar on his cheek, but a burst of pain reminded him it was a bad idea. “It’s complicated.”

  “The sun’s still not up,” Carmen said. “I think we have time.”

  “It’s not about that. It’s just very delicate . . . and dangerous.”

  Carmen waved his concern away. “Julio is completely trustworthy. I trust him more than most,” she said, looking
at Riley.

  “It’s dangerous for him,” Riley said, shaking his head. “Just being here with us could give them a reason to kill him.”

  “In that case . . .” Julio stood up. “It’d be better to leave you two alone. I’ll bring you some blankets so you can get some sleep. Rest as much as you can, and tomorrow we’ll talk again, okay?” He left the candle on the table and disappeared into the door of his room.

  Carmen crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, ready for Riley to finally explain himself.

  An hour later, he’d finished telling her everything that had happened in the last ten days and the possible implications and unintended consequences of each of his actions. The only thing he left out was, silly as it may seem given what Carmen did for a living, his fleeting affair with Elsa.

  “It’s incredible,” she said after his long explanation interrupted with countless questions. She seemed lost in the patterns on the carpet, her head outlined in profile by the lights of dawn coming in through the shutters. “Incredible.”

  Riley nodded. “I know. It seems like the plot of a spy novel, but I promise it’s true.”

  “But it makes no sense. How could they want to kill us for something we don’t even know?”

  “I’m afraid our lives are worth little compared to this mysterious Operation Apokalypse.”

  “Do you know more than what was on that page?”

  “For now, no. I just hope our German passengers find something that can help us figure it out.”

  Carmen massaged the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m sorry for getting you into this mess,” Riley said. “If I had known it would end up like this, I—”

  She sighed. “Forget it. If what you’re telling me is true, it’s not your fault,” she said coldly, tying her hair back in a fluid motion. Without another word, she stretched out on the carpet and lay her head on a pillow. Covering herself with a blanket, she turned away from Riley and tossed the djellaba and silk robe off to the side.

  Riley, still sitting, was quiet, looking at the graceful curve of her neck. “Does that mean . . . you forgive me?” he whispered.