Troubled Waters td-133

by Warren Murphy

  Remo was watching the pirate captain, who placed a pair of his men to guard the senator's daughter, and sent them belowdecks.

  "Not yet, Little Father. Not until Stacy is safe." Chiun gave Remo another look. It said simply, Well, okay, but you are going to owe me big time.

  Okay, Remo thought, bringing the babe was a big boo-boo. Chiun was right and he was wrong. But what the hell was he supposed to do, let her wander the streets of Puerta Plata asking the wrong people the wrong questions until she got herself thoroughly killed?

  Well, yeah, that probably would have been better than letting her fall into the hands of this freaked-out band of buccaneer wanna-bes.

  Self-recrimination was one of the two trains of thought jockeying for dominance in Remo's brain as the pirates boarded the Melody. The second was an unquenchable disbelief in what he was seeing. He had never really believed they'd run into a bunch of pirates who really thought they were pirates. It was nuts. But here they were, all decked out in garb that, minus zippers and assorted other trivia, could easily have passed inspection in another century. Half of them were shirtless, while the rest wore shirts sporting bishop sleeves and antique-looking buttons where they closed in front at all. A lot of them left their shirts gaping open like some pretty boy on the cover of an historical romance novel. Their pants were faded, baggy, patched, some held in place with rope strung through the belt loops. Several of the men wore cross belts, supporting a variety of swords or sabers, in addition to the firearms they displayed. Bright-colored scarves were knotted around several necks, and two of the attackers wore bandannas on their heads. One of the boarders wore an eye patch, and the trawler's captain had produced a tricorne hat from somewhere, prior to boarding, and it perched atop his head now, like a kooky badge of rank.

  "Permission to come aboard, sir," the pirate captain in the tricorne said, laughing aloud at his own wit. A couple of the others chuckled, too, but it was plainly more from courtesy than any real appreciation of the joke. Most of the boarding party had seemed intent on stripping Stacy with their eyes, or else examining the Melody for any sign of loot.

  "Permission granted," Remo said, playing the game.

  "Ah, courtesy." The pirate leader smiled. "We don't be seein' much of that these days."

  "Life's hard," said Remo.

  "That's the ever-lovin' truth, and gettin' harder all the time," the pirate said. "William Teach, at your service. I'll be takin' command of your vessel today."

  It was a bad sign that the leader of the boarding party gave his name, Remo knew. It meant that Teach didn't anticipate survivors testifying in a court of law against him. Even though that knowledge came as no surprise to Remo, still it emphasized the desperate nature of his mission, and the peril facing Stacy, should anything go wrong beyond that point. "I don't suppose you'd entertain objections?"

  Remo asked. It was pushing his luck, but he felt better, stalling for time.

  "Oh, aye," said William Teach. "I'll entertain whatever you've a mind to offer, but I doubt that it will do you or the missus any good. If she's really your missus, which I doubt. Name?"

  "I'm Remo Rubble. You've already met my wife, Stacy. And Chiun, a family friend." He let his voice turn hard as he glanced back toward Pablo Altamira. "You know our guide, I take it."

  "That's the dyin' truth," Teach said, and laughed again. "Young Paco there's a friend o' mine."

  "Pablo," the young Dominican corrected Teach.

  "Whatever." Teach didn't so much as spare a glance for the offended gunman.

  "Under the circumstances," Remo said, "he won't mind if I hold up payment for his services." Teach brayed another laugh, enjoying Remo's wit.

  "Hold up his payment! That's a corker, it is. But you're right as rain, sir. You'll be payin' me this trip. I'll see young Paco taken care of, right and proper."

  "That's a load off my mind," Remo told the pirate, managing a smile. "Why not let my wife join us?"

  "No more games," Teach said, but he was still smiling. "You DEA?"

  "No, but the DEA asked us to keep an eye out for suspicious activity while we were on our cruise," Remo said, coming up with a cover story on the spot.

  "See, we have all this special stuff in the helm. Computers and what have you. Paid an extra half million just for the electronics. I guess the DEA's stuff isn't as good, so they said as long as we were cruising around maybe we could keep an electronic record of ship activity."

  "That doesn't explain why we found the missus in a DEA boat before dawn this morning," Teach prodded.

  "They radioed last night that they thought a big drug run was going on in the vicinity and offered to take Stacy to safety. Since she was debarking in a couple of days anyway, we took them up on the offer. Where are the DEA agents?"

  Teach nodded vaguely at the vast Caribbean. The meaning was clear. The DEA agents were feeding the fishes. Teach's smile was taunting now. "Not a very likely story, Mr.... Remo, was it? Now, what kinda name is that, if I may ask?"

  "Unlucky," Remo said.

  The pirate laughed again. "Truer words were never spoke, my friend. Unlucky's what you are, all right, but as it happens, I've been feeling generous all day. How would it be if I said you could choose the way you'll die?"

  "I'd pick old age."

  "Well said!" Teach answered, chuckling. "But that method isn't on the menu, I'm afraid. Suppose I tell you what's available, and you pick what you like."

  "Whatever."

  "We could try keelhauling, but I don't recommend it to the friendly sort. There's still beheading, and the firing squad, of course. Old standbys, if you will. I'd offer you a duel, but that's too time-consuming, I'm afraid. If you're a sporting man, you just might want to walk the plank."

  "And have you shoot me in the water?" Remo asked.

  Teach placed one hand over his heart and raised the other, with a shiny pistol in it, to the sky. "My word of honor as a gentleman," he said without apparent irony. "We'll leave you sink or swim, as Fate would have it."

  "What about my wife?" asked Remo. "And Chiun?"

  "Your 'wife' goes with us, o' course, just in case your friends happen to catch up to us, which they will not," said Teach. "We're not as cruel as that, to kill a sweet young thing who's barely gotten started on the road of life. She'll not be lonely in her widowhood, I promise you. As for the Chinaman, I haven't made my mind up yet. He wouldn't cook, by any chance?"

  Remo was sure Chiun was going to start doing some killing before the entire word "Chinaman" was uttered, but the old master stood stock-still, hands in his sleeves, face impassive. Remo couldn't begin to calculate the favors he was going to owe Chiun.

  "This really is your lucky day," said Remo, holding on to his peculiar smile. "He makes the best damn Chinese food you ever tasted."

  "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try him out, then," Teach replied. "Not promisin' you anything, o' course, if he don't pull his weight."

  "I understand," said Remo. "Every man for himself."

  "That's it in a nutshell," Teach agreed. "Now, as to walkin' that there plank, we haven't really got a plank, as such. It's more a matter of you jumpin' o'er the rail, you see."

  "Just diving in?"

  "Simple as that," Teach said.

  "And you won't shoot me, once I'm in?" asked Remo.

  "I already give my word on that," Teach answered, frowning. "You're not tryin' to insult me, are you?"

  "Not at all," said Remo. "I'm just making sure we understand each other."

  "Fair enough, then. Off you go."

  Remo strolled past Chiun and muttered briefly in Korean. "Keep them from killing her. Please. I'll catch up soon."

  "There is very little an old Chinese cook can hope to accomplish," Chiun protested.

  "Goodbye, old friend," Remo said formally, in English, for show.

  "For me, Little Father," he added in Korean.

  "I'll do what I can," Chiun sniffed.

  Cripes, Remo thought. He was going to be doing all the cooki
ng for the next six months.

  "What'd you say to him?" Teach asked.

  "I asked him to refrain from killing the lot of you before I could catch up," Remo said.

  Teach chuckled as he and a couple of his crewmen herded him along the deck, their weapons trained on his back. Remo reached the stern rail, stepped up onto it, arms spread for balance and pitched forward, out of sight.

  Teach wasn't chuckling now. He actually admired the man, going so stoically to his death. When the pirate on his left prepared to aim and fire his shotgun, Teach thrust out a hand and jarred the man off balance, cursing him.

  "I give my word, you scurvy bastard! Make a liar outta me an' I'll be forced to do for you."

  The pirate with the shotgun glowered but didn't protest the insult. Moments later, Teach came back to Chiun, surrounded by the other members of his boarding party.

  "Mr. Chin, I hope for your sake that you make some mighty fine chop suey, because that's the currency yer gonna be buying your mortal existence on."

  Chiun, Master Emeritus of Sinanju, said in a squeaky voice, "I understand, Captain."

  But what he was thinking was, That inconsiderate white son of mine is going to be doing the cooking for the next six months. Maybe longer.

  "Where are we going, Captain?" he asked.

  "A true pirate's home," said William Teach. "A tropic island paradise, and no mistake."

  REMO STRUCK THE AZURE surface of the water in an imperfect swan dive, making sure to create a splash. He could have entered the water soundlessly, without a ripple that the eyes of the pirates could see, but he didn't want them getting suspicious.

  Plunging deep, he left a trail of bubbles in his wake for some distance, also for show on the surface. He submerged to thirty feet and began releasing only the tiniest carbon dioxide bubbles as he progressed rapidly. When he surfaced he was 150 yards due south of the Melody and her companion vessel. Without field glasses, he knew his head would be invisible to anyone on board the boats. He watched the activity. His plan was to board whichever vessel Stacy ended up on and get her safe. There was a sudden fury of activity, men passing between the vessels, and Remo was heading for the trawler when he smelled a distraction.

  A slight tang in the water. Human blood. So Teach wasn't so honorable after all. He hadn't shot at Remo, as he promised he wouldn't, but he had taken some steps to insure Remo died in the water, one way or another.

  Remo wasn't worried that the blood might be Stacy's. He knew she was a valuable prize and they wouldn't sacrifice her. And he didn't even consider it might be Chiun's. If the pirates tried to slit Chiun's throat, the sea would be scarlet with blood-pirate blood.

  The faint smell had the odor of slight decay. It was one or both of the deceased DEA agents, steeped in the ocean to serve as a kind of dinner bell. And it worked.

  He spotted a dorsal fin heading in his direction just as the boats were separated and the engines started. He didn't know what kind it was, but from the rough dimensions of the dorsal fin, he guessed that it was ten or twelve feet long. Too far away for him to get a decent look by ducking underwater, but he knew that any fish that size could be a problem if it caught his scent and felt like having him for brunch. Maybe it would just swim on by.

  The dorsal fin became a thin knife in the water. The shark was coming directly at him. The trawler and the Melody started moving.

  Remo made a swim for it, heading for the trawler with a sudden burst of speed that sent him through the water like a torpedo. The shark didn't know human beings well enough to understand that Remo was moving faster than humans were supposed to. Remo was just another fast-swimming, warmblooded creature to the shark. It ate them every day.

  It veered at Remo, who was coming more or less in its direction anyway. When Remo had his first clear view of the shark, he guessed it was a tiger. There were no stripes readily apparent, but the broad, flat nose sparked memories of something he had seen once, years ago, in an aquarium. The gaping mouth was sickle-shaped and bristling with curved, serrated teeth, located well behind the snout, so that he guessed the fish would have to roll sideways to execute a strike.

  The twelve-foot tiger shark changed directions in a heartbeat and did a good job of staying on an intercept course. Its muscular body convulsed to veer its trajectory to match Remo's long-range dodges. He realized he had a choice to make. He could go around the tiger shark or through the tiger shark.

  The first option meant the boats would leave without him. Catching up would be iffy. Following their trail would be impossible, eventually, which meant he'd be swimming for the nearest land-not to mention depending on Chiun to handle the situation with Stacy.

  The second option meant, well, that he had to deal with a tiger shark.

  Remo had no choice at all, really. He hated that. Fate had a bad habit of spinning his life out of control without consulting him first. Fate was a bitch. Remo Williams swam at the shark.

  Streamlined and perfected by several million years of evolution, the eating machine aimed itself directly at Remo's midsection, bearing down upon him like a gap-toothed juggernaut.

  Lots of people had wanted to kill Remo over the years, but they usually had motivations other than lunch. He would be damned if he was going to end up being digested by this or any other fish, mammal, bug, whatever. He was distantly aware of the engine noises from the trawler and the Melody, moving away from him.

  The tiger shark thrust its great body into Remo with a burst of speed and brought down its great jaws.

  This wasn't Remo's first encounter with a hungry, huge elasmobranch, and he knew just how to dampen its spirits. As he corkscrewed in the water and the shark found its maw unexpectedly empty, Remo jabbed his fist into the exposed dental work. It was a hard, fast strike that shattered several serrated teeth and sent the fragments flying into the thing's mouth.

  The tiger shark gyrated away, momentarily frenzied by pain and confusion, but came back around a moment later, moving faster, spurred by its frenzy.

  It shot at Remo and snapped at him, but Remo was still too fast. He punched out another handful of shark teeth and when the shark whipped away he grabbed for the gills, digging his fingers like grappling hooks into the fleshy slits just forward of the big pectoral fin. The shark thrashed wildly, and Remo ripped out a handful of flesh along with a square foot of skin and gills. Blood clouded the water.

  Smart move, Remo Rubble, he told himself. Do just the right thing to attract a bunch of sharks. Over his self-recrimination came a wave of alarm as he realized that the rumble of the boats was now just a tiny vibration in the water as the distance increased. Dammit!

  The tiger shark was hurt but not slowed. It veered in a tight circle and came back fast. It was in pain and it was angry-but not as angry as the Reigning Master of Sinanju.

  "I've had enough!" he shouted. It wasn't the most intelligent behavior for a Master of Sinanju who was twenty feet below the surface with a big carnivore to contend with, but the shout would have shattered a man's eardrums above water. The tiger shark's head snapped as if it had been sucker-punched, and it fled from Remo Williams.

  Remo knew a good thing when he saw it. He made his way to the surface, gulped air and descended as the tiger shark came back at him. This time Remo had full lungs and he let the shark get close enough to touch, then he exploded "Back off!"

  Your average human being couldn't have even come close to vocalizing so loud and so powerfully, and the wall of sound collided with the shark like a depth charge. It jerked away, stiffened momentarily and hung in the water. It made no motion for seconds, and its twelve-foot-long body began to descend in a lifeless twisting motion. Then it flicked its tail, righted itself and moved weakly away.

  Remo spotted another dorsal closing in when he reached the surface. Time to get the hell out of there. He began to knife through the water, chasing the boats, but keeping an eye out just in case. The sharks might come after him, but their burst of speed could not be sustained like Remo could sustain
his speed. Remo could swim for hours without resting, and swim fast, but not fast enough to catch up to the boats. The Melody was immensely overpowered for a pleasure yacht, and for once her engines were actually being used beyond a fraction of their capacity. The trawler was clearly outfitted with a power plant that was faster than your typical fishing vessel might need.

  That maniac pirate captain, Teach, had obviously been spooked by his run-in with the DEA and the possibility that the Melody was a sting operation. He was getting out of the vicinity fast.

  Too fast for Remo.

  Well, shit.

  The boats shrank to specks that appeared only occasionally over the tops of the waves, and when they were almost gone from his sight they veered in opposite directions. Cap'n Teach was going to confuse any pursuit that might be coming.

  Remo kept swimming in the direction the boats had headed originally. He would keep going that way until he hit land. Any land. He wondered how long he would actually last.

  Hell, he was warm enough. He could rest when he needed to. He could go for days if necessary. But days might be too long for Stacy Armitage. By this time tomorrow, Remo was grimly aware, she would still be alive, but in all likelihood she would have been subjugated to the entertainment of the pirates.

  He had seen what that did to Stacy's sister-in-law. He didn't want it to happen to her, too. He kept swimming.

  Then he saw a new speck.

  It was a sailboat, gliding toward him, still something like half a mile away. If it held to its present course, he thought that it would pass within a hundred yards or so of his position.

  Remo swam to meet it.

  Chapter 12

  Despite the brave front she had managed to put on for her abductors, Stacy Armitage was terrified. Her brother's death and the brutal torment suffered by his widow prior to her escape were still too fresh in Stacy's mind for her to cling to any illusions of security. Then the more recent whirlwind events. Just hours ago she awoke on a small boat with a pair of DEA men, put there by that asshole Remo Rubble. They were taking her to safety, they said.

  That was twenty minutes before the pirates stopped them, shot them, slipped their bodies in the Caribbean, then sank their boat.