“Not sure how they would have got the drugs onto shore,” Jimmy added. “It's required to check in with the Port Captain’s Office when you get there. Maybe they transferred them to another, local boat offshore.”
“I’m sure this isn’t the first time they’ve done this, and in this part of the world, bribing officials is commonplace.”
They sat in relative silence the rest of the trip, commenting occasionally on the landscape and vistas. The rain had let up a little as they descended the high ground toward the coast, and Miguel set the wipers to intermittent. From Cuatro Cruces heading north on Hwy 1, one could see the spit of land jutting into the Gulf of Nicoya that was Puntarenas, one of the busiest ports on Costa Rica’s west coast. Miguel reminisced briefly about happenings in Puntarenas in his previous life as Kyle Macdonald; about Jenny's abduction for the second time after she had admitted her indiscretion with Roberto and the events that followed, leading to his decision to ‘disappear’ and assume a new identity to protect Jenny. He often wondered how she was and had heard she was seeing Roberto on occasion.
They had no issues at the border and told the official the truth when asked what their business was is in Nicaragua—they planned to retrieve a stolen boat. Miguel thought it best since he had already notified the local officials there. It had stopped raining now, and the sun was shining. Small wisps of vapour floated up from the pavement surface as the sun heated it and evaporated the rainwater. They turned left off of the Pan American Highway in La Virgen and headed west to San Juan del Sur on Hwy 16. It was only 10 mi. and took them twenty minutes. The sun was low in the sky in front of them, and Miguel pulled down his visor as they approached San Juan del Sur. The highway took them right to the coast, and when they reached Paseo del Rey, the beach road, Annabelle could be seen tethered to a mooring buoy in the harbour. She looked beautiful with the sun shimmering on the water and reflecting off of her decks. Miguel felt a sense of pride and hoped that her abductors had not vandalized her.
“Looks awesome,” said Jimmy after Miguel had pointed it out to him, reflecting Miguel’s thoughts.
“Sure does,” said Miguel.
They drove to the south end of Paseo del Rey until they came to the Post Office; the Police Station was between it and the Sunset Hotel. Miguel parked in one of the vacant spots and opened his door to the heat. Even late in the day in January, it was still hot after sitting for six hours in air-conditioning. Jimmy decided to wait in the car.
Miguel walked up to the counter, behind which a young female was sitting. She didn’t seem to notice him as she continued to stare at her computer screen and work her mouse, pecking at keys on the keyboard. When she finished what she was doing, she turned to Miguel and asked him if she could help him.
“Jorge Navarro por favor ,” he said, raising his voice above the noise of the wall-mounted air conditioner that was losing a battle with the heat and humidity.
“Un momento ,” she said and got up from her chair and walked to a door in the rear of the office. She poked her head in the door and mentioned something unintelligible and then closed it.
“Él estará bien contigo ,” she said as she returned to her desk, sat down and continued with what she was doing. So, he wouldn’t be long and Miguel didn’t bother to sit down. Less than a minute later, the door opened and a tall man in police uniform stepped out. He smiled as he approached Miguel.
“Good evening,” he said in passable English. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Yes, I did,” Miguel responded in much better Spanish.
Jorge then switched to Spanish and said, “We have boarded the boat and there is no one there. We did a search—I hope you don’t mind, but it is a crime scene—and found nothing. You are free to board and leave at any time you wish, but please take advantage of what our little town can offer. We have lots of good restaurants here. I would recommend Restaurante Brisa Marinas, just down the street, for dinner. Try the costillas de cerdo con salsa teriyaki , my favourite. Tell them I sent you.”
Miguel knew Jorge would get something from the owner by mentioning his name. He was OK with that, it’s the way the system worked, and the pork ribs with teriyaki sauce sounded delicious.
“Hungry?” Miguel said as he got back into the car.
“Starving,” said Jimmy.
“Good, we are going to a restaurant just down the road—Restaurante Brisa Marinas—it should be on the left on the beach.
Miguel tried the pork ribs, and they were succulent. Jimmy ordered pan-fried shrimps, and each chased down their meal with a local Cerveza Toña . They had seated themselves next to the window, and Miguel watched the Annabelle while they ate. Just as they had finished their meal, he looked up, and to his horror he saw the Annabelle leaving the harbour.
T hree
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Miguel. “Someone’s taking off with the damned boat.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Jimmy as he followed Miguel’s gaze.
“Back to the police station,” said Miguel.
They raced to the truck after depositing more than enough money for the meal and a generous tip on the table. Jimmy peeled out of the parking lot and sped the few hundred yards to the constabulary. Miguel burst from the truck and yanked on the flimsy aluminium and glass door of the police station.
“Jorge!” He shouted as he ran up to the man’s door, evading the young secretary as he did.
“Señor ,” he said as he got up from his chair. “What is the problem?”
“Someone’s run off with my boat,” Miguel said.
“¡Mis Dios!” he said.
“Call the coast guard,” Miguel demanded.
“There is no coast guard near here,” Jorge said. “Nicaragua has mucho coast line and pequeña budget to patrol it. The nearest coast guard station is about 120 miles north of here. They sometimes send a patrol down here if the need arises, but it would take them about 12 hours to get here and hundreds of gallons of diesel fuel.”
“Shit!” said Miguel.
“The men who stole your boat are from Colombia, so I would think they would head back there.”
“They would have to stop for fuel somewhere; I didn’t see them loading up with Jerry cans here.”
“The closest diesel fuelling station south of here is Marina Papagayo in Costa Rica,” said Jorge. “You could get there much faster by road than they can by sea and intercept them there.”
“Good idea,” agreed Miguel. He looked at his watch. It was after seven. “I figure it will take us up to three hours to get to Marina Papagayo as there is no direct route. It will take them over three hours by sea. I can’t see them burying the throttles and burning up fuel and there’s no reason to get there earlier.”
“OK,” said Jimmy, heading to the door. “Let’s go.”
Miguel followed Jimmy out of the police station and climbed into the passenger seat. Jimmy sped up along the coast road and retraced their route while Miguel punched the coordinates of the marina into the GPS.
“Two-and-a-half hours,” he said as the screen displayed the estimated time of arrival. “100 miles. We turn off the main highway in Liberia.”
“OK,” said Jimmy. It was now getting dark, so he turned on his lights and stared at the headlight’s pencil beams as they penetrated the twilight. The light traffic allowed them to make good time. The issue was trucks on a two-lane highway, where in many areas you could not pass. They arrived at the marina at 9:40 and waited at the restaurant/bar for the Annabelle to show. The harbour entrance was visible from where they sat, and both ordered a local beer.
“How are we going to do this?” asked Jimmy.
“They should vacate the boat during refuelling, but not all marinas insist on it. Maybe they will come here for a night cap and we can retake the boat then. If not, we will have to fight our way on board. Also, they must register with customs.”
“You think they are armed?”
“They were when we were hi-jacked, so that’s a given.”
“At a reasonable cruising speed of 20 knots, considering the calm seas, I would estimate at least four hours, which would be 11 p.m.” He looked at his chronograph. It was 10:48. “Could be here any moment.”
They downed their beers and headed for the fuel dock. Several large boats sat at the deep-water dock; a few upwards of 200’ with multiple decks bristling with antennae, radar and satellite equipment.
“Some people have a lot money,” Jimmy commented.
“More than you know.” Miguel said. “You only have to look in the back of Yachting magazine at the pages of listings; and those are only the ones for sale.”
“I always asked my mother that with so many millionaires in the world, why did you have to marry my dad? ”
“Do you think with all those people have, that they are truly happy?”
“Maybe not, but if you’re going to be miserable, better to be wealthy.”
“I think that may be Annabelle ,” said Miguel as a boat came into view sporting its running lights. They had the spotlight on as it swept the harbour for anything that the radar didn't identify. As it drew closer, Miguel recognized the familiar lines of the Viking Sport Fisherman and the sound of its engines. The craft manoeuvred up to the fuel dock as an attendant stood by to take the bow line. Miguel and Jimmy hid behind bushes at the shoreline and watched as the Annabelle , with the help of its bow thruster, paralleled the dock. Someone jumped from the stern onto the dock with a stern line and secured it to a cleat while the attendant tied down the bow line. After the engines shut down, the attendant stepped onto the swim platform and removed the fuel filler caps. Two other men disembarked and joined the others on the dock. One of them spoke to the attendant who pointed to the bar/restaurant. The men took off in that direction. They passed Miguel and Jimmy in their concealed position and ambled along the shoreline to the bar. Miguel recognized the men from the hi-jack.
“We’ll wait until he's finished fuelling,” whispered Miguel.
Jimmy watched as the three men entered the bar and took a seat in the outside patio. Not only could Jimmy see them, but they could also see him—and one man was looking directly at the boat. The attendant completed filling both tanks and replaced the fuel nozzle back to the pump, then ambled back toward the restaurant. Once the attendant had passed them, they moved from their cover and walked toward the boat. Miguel fished for his spare keys, in case the men had taken them with them. Jimmy nonchalantly untied the lines as Miguel boarded the boat. Jimmy looked up and saw the man looking their way stand and point, gesturing to his buddies. They all got up and ran toward the boat.
“Let's get the hell outta here,” Jimmy yelled to Miguel. The keys were in the ignitions and Miguel engaged the dual start button and turned one key. Both engines, still warm, started without hesitation. Being moored between two other boats, Miguel had to engage the bow thruster to ease the nose out. The men now ran down the dock toward them.
“Hit it!” Jimmy said .
The first man in line jumped for the boat and landed in the cockpit with Jimmy, while the next man, Emilio, missed the cockpit but landed on the swim platform. Knowing he wouldn’t make the jump, the last man stood on the dock.
Emilio climbed over the transom and headed for the steps to the bridge. Miguel glanced behind him and noticed Emilio coming up the stairs, gun in hand. As he reached the top step, Miguel buried the throttles causing the boat to lurch forward. Emilio, holding the rail with one hand only, tumbled backward as the gun fired. Miguel felt the whoosh of the bullet as it passed within inches of his head. Emilio tumbled down the stairs and his gun flew overboard. Miguel reduced the throttles to idle and ran for the stairs, hoping to gain the advantage when the man hit the bottom. Miguel landed on Emilio and pulled him to his feet. Emilio swung a punch at him, which Miguel ducked, coming up with an uppercut to Emilio’s chin. Emilio arched backward as blood spurted from his mouth. Before he could recover, Miguel gave him a shove, toppling him over the transom, landing on the swim platform with a thud. Miguel jumped down after him.
* * * *
Jimmy threw a punch at the man before he gained his balance, which knocked him to the deck. He jumped on his assailant’s back and pinned him to the deck. The man struggled to get free as Jimmy grabbed his flailing arm and twisted it behind his back. Jimmy’s heart sank when he heard the gunshot as the boat leaped forward. The man screamed as Jimmy pushed the arm upwards. He then wrapped his other arm around the man’s neck as Emilio came tumbling down the steps. Jimmy, happy to see Miguel come running down the steps, pulled his own opponent to his feet, still pushing his arm upwards, the man screaming in protest. He turned him toward the coaming, released the hold around his neck and used both hands to push him over the side. Meanwhile, Jimmy looked forward and noted that the boat was still moving and was on a collision course with a 200' mega-yacht moored to the dock.
“Shit!” he said as he darted into the salon and reached for the controls. He threw the engines into full reverse just before it hit the yacht. Concerned passengers and crew on the yacht, alerted to the action by the gunshot, looked on in horror as Annabelle approached. One fast-thinking crew member hurled a large circular ball over the side tethered to a rope, hoping to prevent any damage should the boats collide. Jimmy heard the splash, placed the transmission in neutral and ran to the swim platform. Neither man was visible.
* * * *
As Miguel grabbed Emilio and stood him on his feet, both men slammed against the transom when the engines reversed. Miguel lost his grip on him and Emilio threw another punch, this one connecting on Miguel’s jaw. For a moment, he saw stars, but parried the next punch with his forearm. Miguel figured his best chance was in the water, hoping Emilio did not have the underwater training he had. He grabbed him by his jacket and, using his weight as leverage, hurled him over the edge of the swim platform and into the water.
Miguel took a lung full of air before they hit the water. The familiar sound of bubbles and subdued noises hit his ears as they sank below the surface into the inky black water. Emilio was struggling, but Miguel had a tight grip on his clothing and continued to pull him deeper in the water. Miguel cleared the mounting pressure in his ears and Emilio was struggling even more now. It was possible he did not know how to equalize the pressure in his ears, which can be excruciating. Miguel's lungs hurt in their craving for precious air. Emilio’s struggles eased as bubbles emanated from his mouth and his body became limp. Miguel kicked violently with his legs to propel him to the surface. His lungs now bursting, he clawed with his free hand at the water. When his head breached the surface, he gulped mouthfuls of the cool night air.
* * * *
Jimmy’s concern was mounting as neither of the men were in sight. After a while, both heads appeared about 20' behind the boat and he heard Miguel gulp for air. He threw a lifeline and floating buoy over to him. It was obvious Emilio was unconscious because Miguel held his head above water as he grabbed for the life line. Jimmy slowly retrieved the line along with the two men. When they were at the boat, Jimmy lowered the ladder and grabbed at the unconscious man, dragging him onto the swim platform. Miguel climbed the ladder under his own power and checked Emilio for vital signs.
“He’s still alive,” said Miguel. “Probably got water in his lungs though.” He turned him on his stomach and applied CPR until water stopped coming out of his mouth. Emilio coughed and spat out more water. Jimmy stepped into the cockpit and returned with a length of rope, which he used to bind the man’s hands behind his back. Miguel looked to the fuel dock and observed the third man helping his buddy out of the water. Jimmy went into the cabin and grabbed the MP5 machine gun laying on the couch. Miguel piloted the boat back to the dock while Jimmy trained the gun on the two men. As the boat touched the dock, Jimmy gestured with the gun to the man on the swim platform.
“Pick up your trash and get the hell outta here,” he s
aid.
The men climbed on board the swim platform and grabbed their cohort and stepped back onto the dock, untying Emilio’s hands. By this time, the attendant had returned.
“Who is going to pay for the fuel?” he said.
“They are,” Miguel pointed to the men. Jimmy accentuated the notion with the MP5. Emilio opened his soggy wallet and pulled out a credit card and handed it to the attendant. He took it into his little shack and emerged a few minutes later with a receipt for the man to sign. Satisfied, the attendant handed back the card and said: “The police are on their way.”
“Then you better get going,” Jimmy said. “You’ll have to find your own way back to Colombia.”
“Señor ,” Emilio said. “Can we have our passports?”
Jimmy looked at Miguel.
“We'll be handing them over to the police when they get here,” Miguel said.
The men walked away and Miguel, Jimmy and the attendant watched as they disappeared around the restaurant.
“How will they get home?” Jimmy asked.
“There is a cab service to Liberia, but not this time of night,” the attendant offered. “Many locals will drive people to town, for a price.”
“We will stay for the night,” Miguel said to the attendant.
“No problemo ,” he said. “You can berth at dock number 26. It is US$1.50 per foot, which includes power, water and cable-vision hook-ups. ”
“Thanks,” said Miguel and turned to Jimmy.
“Are you staying over or driving back?” he asked. “It is getting late.”
“I’ll stay over,” he said. “Get a fresh start tomorrow.”
Miguel payed the dockage fee, then eased the boat away from the fuel dock and manoeuvred it to the overnight slip, secured the lines and hook-ups and called Anna.
* * * *
“Hey Baby,” he said as he heard her familiar sweet voice. He knew he loved Anna, more than he had loved anyone else, although each partner he had been with had their good points and bad points. Of course, everyone has their good points and bad points—and he had his own bad points, he knew—but things are more tolerable when you love them deeply. It annoyed him how insistent Anna was about orderliness, because he sure wasn’t. Yet he appreciated the tidiness once he had forced himself to comply with her suggestions. She also had a habit of spending an inordinate amount of time getting ready, but the results were always fantastic. He preferred her without makeup, but had long given way to that argument. I do it for me, she would always say.
Death Drones Page 4