Trouble in Paradise: A Thrilling Supernatural Mystery

by Lyle Howard

  As he continued to wrestle against the mounting current, Cal’s thoughts began to meander back to memories from his childhood. He recalled old black and white clips of the ageless fitness guru Jack Lalanne pulling a string of rowboats across the width of some northern harbor on his seventieth birthday. But at half that age, all Cal was hoping to do was to help one man make it through some choppy water, and he felt like he was towing an aircraft carrier! Maybe he should just stop fighting it, he thought. Just let the undertow from the blades suck him beneath the ship and let his out of shape body jam the props! That would hold ‘em till the cavalry arrived!

  In actuality, there was very little fat content anywhere to be found on Cal Mackey’s frame, and the contemplation of his own ignoble (not to mention gruesomely gory) suicide quickly vanished with a sudden outbreak of blood-curdling hysterics from Artie.

  “We’re not makin’ any headway, Cal! We’re being pulled back in!”

  “You’ve got to kick, Artie! Come on, damn it, kick!”

  The terror in Geiger’s voice was genuine. “I’m tryin’ man!”

  Cal barked his demand like his old Drill Sergeant. “Well, try harder then!”

  Sluggishly, the Nocturne began to move. Cast off and anchor weighed, the monstrous vessel had reversed its engines and was pulling away from the dock and heading directly for Geiger and Mackey. If the engines had been performing normally, the two men would have already been shredded into floating stains of pulp and sinew.

  Staring up at the fantail that towered over them, Cal could just make out the ornate dark letters closing in. A cascade of rain water poured off the upper deck partially obscuring the name, but there was no doubt that the letters were growing in size.

  “Double-time it, Artie! You gotta give me some help here!”

  “My legs ain’t working no more, Cal! I’m dead weight, man, you gotta lemme go!”

  That notion was out of the question. If they were going to die, Cal wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “You think I saved your ass from those bikers just so that you could get diced into chopped liver? Think again, pinhead! Now kick!”

  Geiger could only imagine the raw slicing power of the cold steel blades that were spinning a mere five yards from his feet. The thought of being drawn into them—his feet being amputated on the first swipe, being quartered at the thighs, torso and neck on subsequent revolutions—gave him all of the incentive anyone would need. From somewhere deep down in the human spirit, his legs found an untapped energy source that wouldn’t allow him to surrender. Suddenly, it was the deputy that was leading the retreat. “Faster, Cal! She’s gonna mow us over!”

  Mackey didn’t have to be told twice. With the end of the pier in sight, the two men steadily increased the gap between the propellers and themselves. Swimming with the desire of Olympic athletes, the bartender and deputy slapped the water as fast as their arms and legs could move. Geiger no longer felt the pain in his abdomen, and Cal was no longer out of breath. With the Nocturne bearing down on them, both men had found the zone.

  Forty feet away, Cal could see the next in a series of steel boarding ladders that were draped over the side of the dock. With the Nocturne gaining ground again over the last twenty yards, he knew they wouldn’t make the end of the dock, but they could possibly reach the next ladder. Besides reversing her engines, the giant yacht had pulled laterally away from the dock as well. Small port and starboard thruster engines gave the ship this added maneuvering ability. Now the possibility existed of not only being minced by the props, but also of being crushed between the pier and the ship’s hull. They had no choice. The ladder was their only hope!

  Cal buried his head in the waves and swam for the gold medal. With his ears beneath the surface, he could hear the huge blades increasing their velocity. Spinning far below cruising speed, they still displaced an amazing quantity of water. Listening to the frightful sound, the bartender wondered if he’d ever be able to toss another innocent strawberry into one of his own drink machines.

  Mackey’s right hand reached out for the bottom rung and grabbed it on the first try! Hugging the ladder like it was a long-lost relative, he turned around and looked for his companion. But he saw nothing!

  “Artie!” he screamed.

  There was no way his voice could carry over the rain and engine noise, but it didn’t deter him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again. “Artie!”

  Hanging off the ladder alone, Cal’s emotions ran the gamut … from fear, to anger, to sadness and back to rage. Why did he let go of Artie?

  The Nocturne slid past him like a float in a parade. Slowly, majestically, the ship slipped through the water undaunted by the seething gaze that Cal was focusing upon it. The oily wake splashed over Mackey’s head and burned his eyes, causing him to turn his back to the ship. It took nearly five minutes of hanging like this for the entire yacht to clear the length of the dock. With her jutted bow swinging around due east, the Nocturne limped out of port and headed for the open ocean.

  What were the secrets that this phantom ship held? As Cal hauled his weary body up the ladder, he was more determined than ever to find out. As he sat on the edge of the dock, his head hanging down against the relentless thundershower, his breathing returned to normalcy. He could imagine how Artie must have been calling out to him for help, but he had been too consumed by his own self-preservation to have stayed close to him. As the Nocturne blended into the dark horizon, his tears were flowing as freely as the rain. The sound of Artie’s voice screaming for him would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Cal ... Cal…

  The pleading was so real. It almost seemed to have substance...

  Cal ... Cal...

  He could hear it like it was being carried on the wind...

  Cal ... Cal…

  Just a little too real! Mackey gazed out into the dark oily water of the lagoon, and there he was! In all of his glory, splashing like an otter after a full meal!

  Cal stood up on the dock. “Artie! You son-of-a-bitch!”

  Geiger rolled over onto his stomach and began to tread water. “Is that anyway to talk to your best friend? You gonna throw me a life ring, or you gonna stand there like an idiot and watch me drown?”

  Cal was never so happy to hear his friend’s sarcasm. Finding a length of nylon mooring rope coiled on the dock, he tossed one end into the water. “I thought for sure you were fish food!”

  Geiger waited for the yellow rope to float closer. “I didn’t think I could make it to the ladder, so I swam for the middle of the lagoon!”

  Cal methodically reeled the deputy in. “Jeez, Artie! Don’t ever do that again!”

  Geiger snagged the bottom of the ladder. “Well, if we’re ever in that situation again, I’ll try to remember not to.”

  Cal bent down and helped Geiger up the ladder. When he had reached the top, Cal pulled him into a bear hug.

  “What was that for?”

  Cal eased up. “It’s for havin’ all your freckles in the right places.”

  The deputy pushed him away. “Well, if my ribs weren’t broken before, they sure are now! Thank you very much!”

  Together, the two men stood in a golden silence, inundated by the rain that obscured the rising sun, sharing a moment that not many friends get the chance to experience.

  “I really thought you were dead this time,” Cal said flatly.

  The last time Geiger had seen the same concern in Mackey’s eyes was when he was standing over his hospital bed after the shooting. “I know you did, Cal. I’m really sorry for that. I had no way to signal you.”

  Cal waved his finger in the deputy’s face. “This is the last time I’m gonna worry about you, pal!”

  The deputy smiled, knowing full well that it was the farthest thing from the truth. “So, what do we do now?”

  Cal looked around until he spotted Allen Bushkin’s Bayliner. “Now, I guess, we go after them!”

  Geiger grabbed Cal by the shoulder. “For what
? We don’t know there’s anything wrong on that ship! All those foreigners have to say is that they kicked us off their boat because we were trespassing! And they’d be right! They could have us arrested! Deputies don’t fare well in the joint, Cal!”

  Cal grimaced. “Like they’d really have us locked up.”

  Geiger stood his ground between his friend and the Bayliner. “They still can! They have us on tape!”

  “But they wouldn’t…”

  Geiger poked Mackey in the chest with one finger. “Why are you so damned sure of yourself?”

  “Because I know they’re up to something!”

  The soaking wet deputy shook his head. “You don’t have any proof!”

  Cal muscled past his friend and started to untie the stern mooring line. “You want proof?”

  The deputy spun his friend around. “Before I hotwire this damned boat, you’re darned right I want proof!”

  Cal held up his right hand. At first, Geiger didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking at, but slowly Cal folded back each of his fingers until only his ring finger remained extended. “How’s this?”

  Glimmering in the rain-diffused moonlight, on his usually naked finger was a gold wedding band embellished with a solitary pear-cut diamond.

  Geiger didn’t have to examine the piece of jewelry. He would have known it just from a verbal description. “That belongs to Ernie’s wife. He still wears it in her memory.”

  Cal’s eyes narrowed. “I found it lying on the deck when I was coming to help you. The shrewd old coot must still have some old police blood pumping through those booze soaked veins of his! You know as well as I do that he’s never taken the damned thing off his finger! He dropped it on purpose so someone would find it.”

  “This must mean that they’ve got Bushkin and his girlfriend too.”

  Cal nodded. “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

  Geiger began shuffling around in a panic, trying frantically to figure out where the nearest phone was. “I’ve gotta get to my cruiser. Gotta call the Coast Guard!”

  Cal pointed down into the Bayliner that was bobbing haphazardly on the waves. “I would think that Bushkin’s probably gotta have a handheld radio somewhere onboard. You can call them once we’re underway.”

  Geiger began fumbling with the forward line, trying to undo the knot Cal had tied earlier. I don’t even know what I’d tell them!” he said, not really aware that he was thinking out loud. “I can’t report any of them missing yet; it’s only been four hours! You know, I don’t even think that anyone at the sheriff’s office would believe me anyway!”

  Cal reeled the stern line around his arm and looked out toward the grey horizon, no longer able to see any sign of the Nocturne. “Then I’ve got some really bad news for you, old buddy,” he said, tossing the neatly coiled rope into the back of the boat. “As much as I think you’re gonna hate this thought. I’m afraid you and I are the only chance those people have!”

  Seventeen

  Von Robles tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator descended one deck to the lower cargo level. After having made a quick wardrobe change, opting for a newly tailored suit that now fit his more robust constitution, he stared at his troubled reflection in the mirrored doors and scolded himself for distrusting his instincts. He should have prohibited the Nocturne from pulling into port. They had never done it before. It wasn’t part of the treaty. All food and supplies were normally ferried onboard, and any repairs were always performed at sea by specialized mechanics that were flown in as required. It was the customary practice, the way it had always had been, and it was a routine that should never have been deviated from. He should have ignored his daughter’s relentless whimpering. He had let her pouty face and teary eyes cloud his better judgment. She had been captivated by the flamboyant colored lights coming from the tavern on the distant island, and now all of her insistence to investigate the untried experience might have cost them all dearly. It would not happen again.

  The main corridor that ran the length of the cargo deck was not what one would have imagined it to be. Instead of leaking pipes, dim lighting and squeaking rats scurrying across his path, the hallway that met Von Robles as he stepped out of the elevator was well-lit with ornate wall sconces, and lined with plush crimson carpeting that sported a repeating gold fleur-de-lis pattern down its center.

  One of Von Robles’ men, who had been sitting in a chair outside the second door on the right, jumped to his feet when the elevator doors slid open.

  Von Robles motioned for the guard to take his seat, but the man remained standing. “Relax, Karl,” he advised in their mutual dialect. “I would never expect you to stand at attention all night.”

  The muscular blond lookout smiled cautiously. “Thank you very much, sir. It is good to see you back to your old self.”

  Von Robles put his hand on the sentry’s shoulder. “Please sit. There have been no complaints from our guests, I presume?”

  The guard sat down uneasily. “It has been very quiet down here. The derelict is still sleeping it off, and the woman, well, you know, she is gagged and restrained.”

  The master of the ship smirked. “Women can be such troublemakers, would you not agree?”

  Karl wasn’t sure how to answer the question, since he had never been asked his opinion before. “If you believe so, sir…”

  Von Robles pointed at the locked door and then gestured for the key. “I am beginning to believe that the weaker sex is nothing but trouble, Karl.”

  “Do you wish me to accompany you inside, sir?”

  Von Robles shook his head. “That will not be necessary. I will call for you... if I should need your assistance.”

  The guard shuddered to think about what was about to transpire once Von Robles stepped inside. He flinched nervously. “Very good, sir. Then I shall remain at my post.”

  Casually, Von Robles slipped the key into the lock. “Karl...” he paused, without turning the key.

  The guard jumped like his bottom had been pinched. “Yes... sir?”

  I’ve changed my mind. “I would like you to do something for me…”

  The sentry stood up, his hands clasped behind his back. This posture was not in a display of respect for Von Robles, but in an effort to hide his trembling hands. “Yes... sir?”

  “As you may have surmised from the vibration of the deck, we are underway once again.”

  The guard nervously avoided direct eye contact with his employer. “Yes, sir, I did notice that. It’s good that we are out to sea again, but I thought our engines were down?”

  “They are, Karl, but our little excursion into port has forced us back on course before we could procure the services of a qualified mechanic.”

  The guard nodded. “And you would like for me to see what I can do?”

  Von Roble’s nimble fingers once again wrapped around the key. “You were a machinist’s mate when we recruited you, were you not?”

  The word recruited sounded so much more tactful than blackmailed. “Yes sir, I served three and a half years as an apprentice on the frigate, Vidzeme, out of the Gulf of Riga.”

  Von Robles nodded. “Then you might be of assistance to Stephan in the engine room. Go and see if you can lend a hand to expedite the repairs. We need all engines back to full speed as quickly as possible if we are to reach the weekly supply rendezvous on time.”

  The sentry bowed cautiously. “I will do my best, sir,” he assured, before heading for the elevator.

  “And Karl...” Von Robles called out.

  The guard paused midway down the corridor. “Yes... sir?”

  Von Robles turned the key. “On your way down to the engine room, please find Alexi and Ian for me. They should no doubt be licking their wounds in their cabins.”

  Karl swallowed hard. “And what do you wish me to tell them, sir?”

  A sinister shadow fell over Von Robles face. The guard wished that he was just imagining it, but knew too well he was not.

  “Just te
ll them I want to see them in here right away!”

  The tone of Von Robles voice made the guard’s skin crawl. “Inside the hold, sir?”

  The Czar of the Nocturne never wavered as he stepped through the hatchway. “You heard my order, Karl. Both of them! In here! Immediately!”

  Eighteen

  The stark, white hull of the borrowed Bayliner reflected a rosy shade of orange as the first rays of the sun began to peek above the horizon. For the two hijackers who had hot-wired the boat, the panorama of optimistic colors was a welcoming sight after the last five hours’ unnerving events.

  The brunt of the terrible storm had cleared the island, but the water remained rough and unyielding as the Bayliner dipped and climbed across the troughs and crests of the relentless sea. The intensity of a steady mist falling from a band of lingering gray clouds seemed to be magnified by the velocity of the boat. To one on dry land, the light rain would have been little more than an annoyance, but racing across the open ocean with throttles full bore, the water stung Mackey’s unprotected skin.

  With the only illumination in the cabin coming from the daybreak that filtered through the two miniscule portholes, Geiger was continually bumping into his unfamiliar surroundings. “You should see all of the crap he has down here!” he shouted over the pounding of the hull and the roar of the outboard engine. “He’s probably got three ounces of dope down here, but I can’t find any damned batteries!”

  Hands clutched around the chrome steering wheel and his attention focused on the whitecaps, Cal quickly glanced down at the deputy whose head was now sticking out of the cuddy cabin’s hinged doors. “He’s gotta have them somewhere, Artie! Keep searching!”