Retribution Road

by Jon Coon

  “No, I can’t leave my girls. They need me.”

  “We’re going to do everything we can to find them and care for them. There’s nothing more you can do. I’m sorry.”

  The lights were returning. They were running out of time.

  “There has to be another way. It can’t just end like this,” she cried.

  Gabe remembered how Emily’s father had lingered to protect her and wondered could that happen again? The light became so intense, he had to turn away, but he could hear her begging, “No, don’t take me. Please don’t take me.”

  The lights were gone and there was no indication that she had not gone with them. Gabe’s supernatural light was gone as well, and he turned on the dim dive light. He quickly checked the plane. Two bodies in the front seats and tightly wrapped bales of marijuana in the back. As Bobby had said, no trace of the three little girls.

  The battery in his dive light was failing. He checked his computer for the digital compass and hit the button to turn on the LED. It was so faint he could barely read it. He dropped down from the plane and started back on the reciprocal compass bearing. He was trying to remember when he’d last replaced the computer battery when he hit the last breath in the tank.

  He removed the regulator from his mouth and found the oral inflator on his BC. Not the best air, but one or two breaths should be all he needed to get back to the other tank. The dive light failed. He reached down to his leg pocket and pulled out his last cyalume stick. He broke it and shook it and was disappointed in how little light it produced. He couldn’t see more than three feet. This was going to get serious if he didn’t find that tank. I could use a little help here, Lord. If he went up, he would get bent like a pretzel. Come on, Gabe, get it together.

  A huge southern stingray, more than six feet across, burst from the sand in front of him. He stopped and dropped to the bottom. He was still breathing the air from his BC and could feel the effects of nitrogen narcosis beginning. His face was tingling. He was disorientated. The spare tank had fallen over and was lying just ahead. He shook off the buzz and swam to it. He put the regulator in his mouth and pulled hard to get the gas. Nothing. The valve was off. He fumbled with the valve until he heard the rush of gas fill the hose. He hit the purge to clear the regulator and finally got gas. Blessed gas. Wonderful gas. lifesaving gas.

  He stayed on his knees on the bottom and took several deep breaths. The nitrox helped. His head began to clear and the buzz was fading.

  “Thank you. Thank you.” His prayer of thanks was one of the most real of his life.

  As his head cleared, he was able to make sense of the numbers on the computer. As he had suspected, he was well beyond his zero decomp time of twenty minutes and in need of a prolonged hang.

  He reeled in the cave reel line until he reached the buoy line and ascended to his first two-minute deep stop at a hundred feet. When he reached eighty feet, Brad was anxiously waiting and pointed at his computer. Gabe gave an okay, and they ascended to the deco stop at twenty feet.

  Gabe needed fourteen minutes on 100 percent oxygen. As they waited and watched the computer tick down the minutes, Gabe reflected that he now had a much greater appreciation for the Navy’s emphasis on the buddy system. He knew academically, intellectually, the dangers of diving alone. But to carry out his special missions, there had been no choice, and today, again, violating the buddy plan had nearly been disastrous.

  Chapter 12

  “BOBBY RAN OUT OF GAS? That didn’t happen.” Tom fumed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Neither did he,” Gabe said. “He said he checked the fuel before they took off, and when the engines quit, he still had eighty gallons according to the gauges. Is there some way a timer or other device could have cut off the fuel?”

  “I suppose so. And that makes sense. Imagine the headlines: ‘Son of Texas oil billionaire, US Senator Bob Benson, crashes with a load of Mexican grass.’ That sends a message, doesn’t it? Now whoever did this has Bob’s granddaughters to use as leverage against him. Vicious.”

  “Is there anything about the guys who took Paul?”

  “Nothing yet, but I expect I’ll be getting a call any day now. The same kind of call Senator Benson got yesterday. The cartel has threatened to kill them if we don’t back off.”

  “Any leads at all?” Gabe asked.

  “We’ve got people in Mexico looking. Good people. Perhaps soon.”

  Moonlight streamed in the high window of his whitewashed, stone-walled hospital room. The room had a musty smell, and looking up at the single window he could see the outer wall was over two feet thick. This place must be really old, he thought, like an old castle or something.

  Paul had been awake for an hour trying to find a comfortable spot in the very uncomfortable hospital bed. He’d not been out of that bed since arriving, and try as hard as he could to estimate the time, he had no idea how many days that had been. His head was clearer now than it had been, but he was also feeling some pain. He needed to go to the bathroom and couldn’t quite reach the urinal on the nightstand. As he stretched for it, he thought he could probably get out of the bed without falling. He lowered the safety rail and swung his feet toward the floor. He slid off the edge until he was standing and then held on to the railing while the room began spinning. He was panting, unable to get his breath, and then the lights went out.

  He fell forward into the nightstand and the metal urinal went flying, clanging across the cement floor. His door opened immediately and the girl with the snakes on her arms was kneeling beside him.

  “Dolor?” she asked and pointed to his wounds in his back. She put her arm around him and, with strong legs, helped him to his feet. “Dolor?” she repeated.

  “I don’t understand,” Paul said. He tried to stand straighter, wanting to stretch his neck and back.

  “Dolor. Pain,” she said in heavily accented English. She gently touched his back where the dressings were.

  “A little,” Paul answered and then remembered a word from his high school Spanish. “Pequeño. Small. Just a little.”

  “Yes.”

  “El baño, por favor.”

  She looked at him askance, and he smiled back.

  “I’m okay. I can make it.”

  “Si. Okay.” She put his arm over her shoulder and her arm around his waist and took a step toward the bathroom.

  “I can go by myself,” he said and tried to pull away.

  “No,” she said and pulled him back. “Baño. Go.”

  When they got to the door, she stood behind him holding him up while he went. When he finished, she said, “Bueno,” and marched him back to bed. She picked up the fallen urinal and replaced it on the nightstand and helped him adjust the pillows. “Dolor?” she asked again.

  He shook his head. “What’s your name?” he asked. What is your name? Maybe I should have paid better attention in that Spanish class. This is kinda fun.

  “No nombre. No.” She wagged a finger at him and frowned. She looked him over one more time and then left the room. He heard the door lock after she closed it.

  Sunlight flooded the room when he awoke, and a tall, dark-complected officer was standing at the foot of his bed. Paul did his best to pull himself up in the bed and face the man without showing the fear that knotted his stomach.

  “Good morning, amigo.”

  His English was good, his demeanor friendly. His uniform was pressed with crisp pleats. There were epaulettes on his shoulders with a single five-pointed black star on each. Unlike anything Paul recalled on other uniforms.

  “Good morning.”

  “I understand you are healing well. Your nurse tells me you were able to get out of bed last night. So I think it’s time for us to talk about the rules.”

  “Okay.”

  “As you probably know, we brought you here for a reason. I’m sorry that it was a painful journey for you, but our doctors did a good job removing the bullets, and you should be able to start getting some exercise in a wee
k or two.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Fair question. Your grandfather is Captain Thomas Bright of the Texas Rangers, correct?”

  Paul hesitated.

  “We know that’s true, so you might as well admit it.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “We have a business, a very good business, but your grandfather has become a problem for us. So rather than just kill him or kill all of you, we brought you here to assure his cooperation. As long as he does as we ask, you will be treated well.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Do you really have to ask? Let’s just assume he values your life enough to do as he’s told.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, while you are our guest, there are just a few rules: If you try to escape, you will be shot. If you find any way to communicate with your family, you will be shot and then so will your family. If you gain information about the location of this hospital from any of the staff, they will be shot, and if any of them give you any other information about us, including any of our names, they will be shot. You asked your nurse her name last night. If you want to see her again, don’t do that. Understand?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Not good enough. I will repeat anything that isn’t clear.”

  “I understand. No questions; don’t try to escape; don’t try to call home. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Forget everything you saw and heard about Chica. She never existed.”

  “She shot me; that one’s easy.”

  “Good. Now, when you are able, we’ll find something for you to do. I understand you like to dive?”

  “Yes, diving is cool.”

  “Good. Look forward to that. And keep working on your Spanish. It will help in your new job. In a day or so we’ll call your grandfather. Give you two a chance to catch up. That will be fun, no?”

  Paul lay on his bed staring at the cobwebs in the corner and wondering how he would ever get out of this. Would he ever see his family again? He thought about Chica and how they had killed her and then how she had set him up to be kidnapped. Who were these people and how could they be so cold-blooded? That Tulane professor friend of Gabe’s, Alethea, had told him about atheist dictators who killed millions and had no fear of a final judgment. Was that who these people were? If they killed as easily as they killed Chica, that had to be the case. He wondered, if there was a God, how could he have let this happen?

  Chapter 13

  EMILY WALKED THROUGH THE CUTTING horse stable admiring the quarter horses in their crisp white stalls with fresh straw on the floor and blended grains in their feed bins. There were twenty stalls, ten on each side, and in addition to the smells of the hay and the feed and the disinfectant, there was the wonderful, intoxicating smell of horse. Agile, lightning fast, cunning horse. Able to outmaneuver anything on four feet, jump to a full gallop, stop and spin on a dime, and give you a nickel in change. There could be no greater joy in life than having a horse as your best friend and partner. But which horse? That was the question.

  Carol entered the south end of the barn and saw Emily rubbing the nose of a sleek brown stallion. “That’s Mr. Mister. He’s a champion,” Carol said. “One of the best in the country. His foals sell for tens of thousands of dollars and there’s a five-year waiting list.”

  “Wow.”

  “Your granddad saw the future in cutting horses before the sport became as popular as it is now, and he got in on the ground floor. Our ranch has some of the best horses in the state. This barn is what pays the bills for the ranch and is how Dad’s been able to keep all of it intact.”

  “How could you have ever left, Mom? This is so cool.”

  “I love horses, but I loved your dad more. It was my job to go with him to his job.”

  “But why couldn’t we come back now?”

  “I think we’ve got some unfinished business in Florida, don’t you?”

  “Maybe, but I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

  “It will take time, honey. I’m just not sure he’s ready.”

  “Mom, what’s really going on with Paul? I’m old enough to handle it, whatever it is. I just wish you would tell me the truth.”

  Carol recognized the hard set of Emily’s face. It was almost as if she were seeing her younger self in a mirror. “Okay, I guess you’re right. You are old enough. Paul was kidnapped by drug dealers. He was wounded when they took him, and we don’t know where he is or how badly he’s hurt.”

  “That’s terrible. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We didn’t want you to worry until we knew what was really going on.”

  “Why would they take Paul? He’s just a dumb kid.”

  “Your grandfather thinks they took him to use as leverage. To get the task force to back off.”

  “They don’t know Grandpa. He’ll hunt them like snakes in a pit.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of. Let’s keep praying that doesn’t happen.”

  Later that afternoon, Captain Bright took his cell phone from the pocket of his well-worn bomber jacket pocket and answered, “Hello.”

  “Grandpa Tom, it’s Paul.” The voice was weak and strained.

  “Paul, thank God you’re alive. Where are you, boy?”

  Juan Mateo Caldera was on the line and cut in before Paul could answer. “Hello, amigo. Your grandson is safe. At least for now. He had a little accident, but we fixed him up pretty good. Now you and me, we need to have a talk.

  “What you did to my boats and my men, that wasn’t very friendly. If you want to see this boy again, that’s all going to have to stop, amigo. Comprende?”

  “Go on.”

  “We have some very nice insurance. Those pretty little girls and now this fine young man. No one wants to see them hurt. Most of all you and your amigo, the senator. So starting today, the Texas Rangers are going to be working for peace and cooperation along the borders and the coast. I think this can be the beginning of a beautiful relationship, don’t you?”

  “Specifically, what do you want?”

  “You have a plane, yes? That pretty orange one?”

  “Yes, and others.”

  “Well, that’s good. Because you have just become a passionate fisherman. In fact, you are going to fly down here and go fishing a couple times a month, at least until you’ve repaid what you cost us. And while you are flying for us—and understand the importance of what I’m telling you—you are going to make sure our other visits go unhindered.

  “Your Democrats have wanted to open your borders for years. Well, now’s the time. Open your borders and these niños will be as safe as if they were in their mama’s arms.”

  Tom was silent, waiting.

  “So, amigo, you think about it. I’ll call you in a day or two and we’ll schedule your first vacation. No problems.”

  “Let me speak to my grandson again.”

  “Of course, he’s right here.”

  “Paul, are you all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re all praying for you, son. Don’t worry. This is going to turn out just fine.”

  “Grandpa, I’m really sorry I got into this mess. I should have listened to you and Gabe.”

  “You just concentrate on getting stronger. That’s all that’s important now. Now put me back on with the guard.”

  “Yes, sir.” Paul returned the phone to the guard.

  “Don’t hurt those kids. I’ll do what you want, but don’t hurt those kids.”

  “Oh yes, Capitán, you will do what we want. Buenos dias.”

  Tom watched his watch for two minutes and then punched a code into his phone. “Did you locate them?” he asked.

  “Not an exact position, but south of Puerto Aventura. There can’t be much there. We’ll set up a satellite watch.”

  “Good, let me know as soon as you’ve got something.”

  “You ready to go to Mexico? I just got a call from Paul and someone who sounded like he has some horsep
ower in the cartel,” Tom told Gabe.

  “What about the Benson girls? Anything on them?”

  “The guy on the phone said they are alive and being well treated. If they want our cooperation, I suspect that’s true.”

  “And Paul?”

  “He said he’s okay. They are not abusing him.”

  “That will be a big load off Carol’s mind. She puts on that stoic, I’ve-got-everything-under-control nurse face, but I know she’s been worried to death. Have you told her yet?”

  “As soon as we get things squared away here.”

  The demolished Beechcraft was sitting on the front of the barge, and EMS had removed the bodies. DEA had the drugs, and CSI would go through the plane for prints and DNA. The biggest discovery was made by the aeronautical engineer: a timer with a servo that cut off the fuel supply. The plane had been sabotaged. Bobby Benson had not accidently run out of fuel.

  “We’ve got a witness in Puerto Aventura who says she saw the girls. We’re going to fly down and see if someone would like to steal our plane and murder or maim us. You in?” Tom asked Gabe.

  “When can we leave?”

  “It will take a day to set things up. You can spend tomorrow with the girls. I’ll get this cleared with your department. We may be gone for a while.”

  The Ranger who had picked them up drove them back to Scholes International, and after grabbing a sandwich to go and a preflight and then tower clearance, they were in the air for the hour flight back to the ranch.

  “Ever flown?” Tom asked when they were at altitude.

  “Never in the front of the plane.”

  “It’s fun, you’ll like it. Take the controls and feel the maneuvers with me.”

  Tom pointed out the engine gauges, altimeter, and artificial horizon, then did some slow banks and turns and gradual altitude changes. By the time they were on approach to the grass strip at the ranch, Gabe was getting the feel of it. Tom brought them down in a smooth, soft landing and taxied to the hangar. They loaded Gabe’s dive gear in the truck and headed back to the house.