“Hrmph. My kids would have loved coming here.”
The quartet grew still as the massive amber doors opened. Warren Baxter’s smile competed with the sheen of the walls and could be seen from across the great ballroom.
He shook hands and lavished thanks as he crossed the room; he made sure to greet everyone who crossed his path. It was five minutes before he reached the dais.
“Here we go again,” Vinnie said and ordered two more beers. “Ms. Bernelli. Can I get you anything?”
Lost in her thoughts, Katherine shook her head and smiled. “No thank you, I’m working Mr. Carlito.”
Vinnie blushed. “Of course, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Listen, please don’t tell Mr. Show-and-Tell what I said. If it got back to my boss...well, like I said, I have kids.”
“It’s our secret, Mr. Carlito. Please, enjoy the presentation.”
Vincent Carlito tipped his beers to her and sauntered off to find a seat. Katherine turned back to the bar. “Give me another gin please Antoine.”
“But, you’re working.’”
“Just pour. You have no idea the day I’ve had.”
Warren Baxter cleared his throat behind the microphone and beamed his smile in the general direction of the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen... ”
The amber panels on the grand doors crashed open.
Baxter stammered as men clad in black rushed into the room. Masks covered their faces. Each was armed. The group poured into the room, filed through the crowd, and covered all points of entry.
Gasps from the crowd were followed by screams as more men entered from the service entrance, leading the cooking staff in front of them.
The immense room was filled to capacity.
“What is the meaning of...” Baxter’s defiant words were cut short by gunfire. Several of the intruders fired short bursts into the ceiling. One made his way to the dais.
Warren Baxter was roughed from his perch and thrown into the crowd. The figure in black said nothing. The rest of the force moved throughout the room and divided the crowd into two large groups.
Braver and drunker men in the crowd began to speak up, demanding answers, receiving blows to the head in reply. Most kept silent, complying with the gestures of the gun barrels. Rifle butts quickly silenced the dissention, and the groups were moved to separate sides of the room.
Katherine found herself in the smaller group, forced back, against the wall. The amber felt cold against her shoulders, and she was thankful that Antoine had already poured her that second gin.
She downed the drink. A hand on her elbow startled her. She turned to react but saw that it was Vinnie. He nodded slowly as he moved closer to her.
Silently, the intruders ushered the larger group from the room. No words were spoken. No demands given. Commands were delivered by the wave of a barrel. Katherine tried to look above the crowd in front of her.
Baxter was receiving especially terrible treatment. His hands were forced behind his head and the barrel of an assault rifle was placed in his back. His defiant voice surfaced again and he was driven to the ground. A knee was placed in his back and he was shoved to the ground.
Baxter grunted as he collapsed. A black-gloved fist dragged him back to his feet by his wispy strands of hair; he was forced through the amber-coated doors and into the hallway.
Katherine’s group was led through the staff entrance. Compliance was immediate. Shuffling their feet, each prisoner trying not to kick the heel of the person in front of them, the crowd begrudgingly moved from the beauty of the Amber Room and into the unknown.
EIGHTEEN
The water was briny and thick with the reclaimed dirt of the island. They slogged through the trench. Water rose and fell around them, ankle to waist.
Paul grimaced. “The smell is worse here. What is it?”
“Quiet,” Steve concentrated on moving silently through the murky water. Rocks and an uneven creek bed made the passage difficult. His foot slipped off a rock and he fell chest first into the water. “I think this may be slowing us down.”
“Look for a way out, then,” said Paul. “This wasn’t my idea.”
Loosely packed sand formed the walls of the ditch. Thick grass was the only thing holding the top of the ridge in place. The walls had gotten consistently higher and steeper as they had moved on, and it had not been long before they had any choice but to keep moving forward. They had heard nothing behind them. The entire island was quiet.
They took no comfort in this.
The wind had carried the roar of an explosion to them earlier, but they could only guess what had happened. Either way, whether Savage had taken out the eco-terrorists, or vice versa, they did not feel entirely safe. Both groups had waved guns at them today; to root for either side seemed pointless.
One of the forces distracting the other was the best they could hope for.
They fought the mud and mire for fifty yards, through turns and twists, before they came to a rocky slope that afforded them enough of a grade to escape the trench. Steve gripped the loose dirt in his hands and pulled himself towards the top of the wall.
“Steve!” Paul’s whisper was harsh. “Let me go first.”
“Quiet.”
“I’m armed.”
“Give me the gun then.”
Paul was going to argue but couldn’t make a point. It would only cause unnecessary noise if Steve climbed back into the water to let him take the lead. He handed over the gun and tried to relax his fingers. They ached in protest at the absence of the weapon.
Bennett climbed. He tested the pressure of each foothold on the loose rocks, slipping many times as he inched higher. Within a few moments he crested the wall and peered through the grassy reeds at the top.
Then, just as cautiously, he lowered himself back down.
The astounded look on his face caused Paul concern. “Are they there?”
Steve shook his head in response. He did not even look at Paul.
“What?” Paul was getting impatient. If a man with a gun was not waiting at the top of the hill, why had his friend climbed back down? “What is it?”
Steve’s voice belayed his disbelief. “It’s a rhino.”
“A what?”
“A rhino.”
“What are you... ?”
“A rhino, Paul. Great big, gray with a horn that could pierce a truck.”
Paul looked at the crest of the wall trying to imagine what his friend had seen. “That just doesn’t make any sense.”
Steve’s face lit up, “We’re on the wildlife preserve.”
“The what?”
“It was in the brochure.”
“I never read the brochure.”
“Well you should have read it.”
“Reading makes my lips tired.”
“Well there were pictures.” Steve snapped quietly. “And one of them was of a rhino.”
“I’ll read it when we get back, okay? Are we talking tigers here? Because the rule with tigers is never get out of the boat. And I am not getting back on the boat.”
“No. I don’t remember tigers. Lions, I think. Elephants, and, obviously, rhinos.”
Paul looked at his empty hand. “Give me the gun.”
“You’re not going to shoot the rhino.”
“I’m not going to shoot the rhino.” Paul grabbed for the pistol.
“You’d just upset it.”
“I’m not going to shoot the rhino.”
Steve crept back up the top of the slope and peered over. He turned back to Paul and whispered down. “Do rhinos sleep standing up?”
“Let me check my field guide. I don’t know? Do I look like Bindy friggin’ Irwin?”
“I think they might be asleep.”
“You’re not thinking about tipping them, are you?”
Paul began to climb the hill. Soil fell from his footsteps and he slid several times before reaching the top. Steve was right; three rhinos stood twenty feet from the ravine.
“What are
you thinking?” Paul asked.
“These ravines are probably to keep the animals separated. And I would much rather be in an exhibit with a sleeping rhino than with a prowling lion. Because, they’re nocturnal right?”
“Why do you keep assuming I know stuff?”
“I have no idea. C’mon.”
Steve pulled himself over the lip of the ravine and crouched low. Paul followed. Cautiously, they crept past the small crash of rhinos. Two lay on the ground. One stood silently.
Paul studied the large creatures before moving further. He was mostly positive that they were asleep, but his personal experiences with rhinos ended at the zoo. Faced with the situation now, he wasn’t sure if they had been awake in the exhibits.
After a few moments he felt confident that they were asleep, and he started moving again.
They inched forward, each holding their breath as they took measured steps, hoping to avoid the snap of twigs or crackle of dried reeds.
Paul began to giggle when he realized that he was literally on his tip-toes. The absurdity of the situation had struck him as silly.
Steve turned with a scornful look and a finger to his lip. Paul shrugged, put his middle finger to his own lips, and held his breath again. When Steve turned back, the rhino had moved.
It swung its head slowly sideways; its black eye reflected the moonlight.
“Steve, rhinos do not sleep standing up.”
The first burst of gunfire startled the rhinos. The second round put them on the defense. Their grunts were frightening and they turned frantically searching for the source of the disturbance.
The ground at Steve and Paul’s feet erupted into plumes of dirt and grass. Paul spun to see four men across the ravine. Two were shooting. Two were heading for the lip of the chasm.
With assault rifles on their left and nature’s tank on their right, Steve and Paul ran straight ahead. The rhino habitat was bare grasslands. No trees offered cover. No rocks. No shelter.
Bullets nipped at their heels and drove them on. A shallow impression afforded them the only cover in sight. Steve dove head first as Paul slid in behind him. The firing abated from across the gorge. Steve fired two quick shots at the crest of the ravine in an attempt to keep the two closest pursuers at bay.
“Still don’t think they were going to kill us?” Paul tried to lie as flat as he could.
Paul watched the rhinos. The mammoth creatures had backed from the gunfire and taken up a defensive position within the small herd. They didn’t seem interested in pursuing the two friends.
Steve tried to lie flat in the hole. It wasn’t comfortable; between his wet clothes and the dry grass of the environment, he itched. The longer grass blades seemed to penetrate the shorts that sucked to his legs.
Shooting resumed and he tried to compress his body to the ground. The security force had taken aim again; rocks and dust fell over the lip of the depression.
“The two in the ravine will be coming soon,” Paul had found a deeper portion of the hole and had a little more maneuverability than Steve.
Bennett grabbed a clump of grass that had begun to bruise his back and ripped it from the ground. It sparked a thought. He threw the clump at Paul.
“Grow up, would you? Now is not the time for a dirt fight.”
“Paul, grab a bunch of these and tie them together with your belt.” Steve struggled to reach into his front pocket. The soaked material clung to his leg, making it a challenge; moving his hand without getting shot was even more difficult.
Paul grabbed reeds by the handful and laid them across his belt. “How much?”
“All that will fit. Cinch it tight. You’re going to throw it.” Steve finally succeeded in wrestling the Zippo from his pocket.
“Here they come!” The firing had ceased to grant the guards in the ravine safe passage to the rhino enclosure.
Steve risked firing two more shots at the edge of the gorge. He dropped the gun and turned back to Paul. “Ready?”
Paul stuck out the tightly wrapped bundle of reeds. Steve flipped open the Zippo and spun the wheel. The faithful spark struck the wick and lit the flame. He held the lighter under the bundle and lit both ends. Dry grasses roared to life.
“Throw it!”
Paul stood and faced the slope of the ravine. The two guards were just beginning to pull their shoulders over its edge. Cinder scattered into the night as the flaming bundle soared across the plain. Paul dropped back into the relative safety of the depression.
“What’re we hoping for with this? A wall of flames?”
“Flames, smoke, anything to give us a chance to get away.” Steve watched the tinder bundle burn.
The roaring firebomb had landed just in front of the ravine’s edge. One of the men caught a face full of embers and dropped back below the ledge. The other tried to knock the bushel into the water, but only succeeded in spreading the fire.
There wasn’t a lot of grass by the edge but what was there caught quickly. Steve peered over the lip. He was sure the fire would slow down the two in the ravine but it wasn’t enough to obscure them from the gunmen across the gorge.
He ducked as another barrage of bullets spat against the edge of the pair’s hiding hole. He pressed hard with his weight to make himself as flat as possible. His ear mashed against the ground as bullet-flung rocks pelted his face. It was then that he noticed a low rumble.
The rumble grew into a roar. He pulled his ear from the ground and still it grew. The rhinos were charging.
Steve tensed his body, expecting them to run from the fire, down to the hole and over him and his friend. He pointed the gun in their direction knowing full well that a round from Paul’s .45 would do no good.
But, the crash of rhinos did not appear. The rumble grew in intensity but not volume. Despite all sense, the rhinos charged into the fire. The three massive creatures beat their soles wherever the fire had spread. Smoke from the dying blaze mixed with dust and filled the air.
Steve looked back at the chaos and screamed to Paul, “Go! The rhinos are blocking the view.”
Paul scurried out of the hole; Steve followed. The thunderous sound continued behind them.
They reached the other side of the paddock quickly and were greeted by another moat, but this one held the dry promise of a foot-bridge. Constructed of metal and as narrow as a man it was obvious that the rhinos could not use it as a means of escape.
Their footsteps rang the planks like a xylophone as they darted across the bridge. On the other side was a small compound of metal buildings. Several small sheds and a larger portable building defined the game wardens’ offices.
Outside was a display featuring a map of the island; the Kingdom Key logo emblazoned across its center. The silhouette of a rhinoceros indicated where they had been. They had found the HQ at the center of the island.
Three golf carts were lined up to receive their nightly charge. Each was painted safari brown and mottled with black spots and mud.
They ran past the carts and crashed through the door to the main cabin.
The game wardens office was filled with little more than a desk and equipment lockers. Steve tried in vain to open the lockers. His hope was that they contained rifles, tranquilizer guns or something that could be used to combat their pursuers. Padlocks held firm against his excessive and futile rattling.
Paul appeared at his side and pulled the gun from his hand; two bullets sent sparks flying and tore the sliding lock from the frame. The door creaked open as the padlock fell to the ground.
Two flashlights, a first aid kit, and a shotgun were stowed neatly inside. A box of deer slugs sat on the bottom of the steel locker. Steve fed rounds into the gun as Paul ran back outside to study the map.
“Where do we go?” Steve appeared beside him, pumped the slide of the gun, and chambered a slug.
The map display was massive and beautifully designed. Each section of the island was identified by its residents and information about the various flora and fauna t
hat could be found there.
“North are lions. Zebras east.”
“I vote, east.”
“The dock is North.” Paul ran his finger across the shadow of a boat.
“That’s stupid.”
“There’s a path that takes us around the entire island, but I didn’t think we had time for the complete tour.
“Fine. We go north.”
# # #
Stale air filled the opulent banquet hall; its volume had been filled with the nervous breath of the hostages. They sat motionless. Several guards paced at the perimeter of the room. They cradled automatic weapons in their arms and stared intently out of the slits cut into the masks that covered their faces and hid their identity from the frightened prisoners.
The silence made the situation even more unbearable for the hostages. Whispers began more from frustration than as plans for escape.
The talk of terrorists was the first whisper that broke the hushed atmosphere. The group of armed men had remained silent and given no indication of their origin. Both their language and identities were a secret.
They were well-equipped. Every guard held a similar weapon.
Katherine didn’t know what kind of gun it was, but with the stock tucked under their arm, it looked no longer than their forearm. Still, despite the small size, the weapon looked deadly in the arms of the mysterious men.
Pouches hung from straps woven into the black uniforms. The weight of their contents fought against the fabric. She assumed they held more bullets.
Expressionless faces hidden by fabric did less to frighten her than seeing the eyes of her captors. There was no emotion in the cold eyes. Each held the same gaze. Blue, brown, or gray, every eye held the same indifference.
She focused on the guard closest to her, and followed his stare. He looked above the crowd, his finger poised on the trigger guard of the odd-looking weapon, waiting to quash the first ill-conceived escape attempt.
The whispers continued.
“Terrorists, they have to be terrorists.”
“Are they here to strike against America?”
“Are they holding us for ransom?”
“Some of the richest people in the country are here.”
Tortugas Rising Page 9