Caribbean Gold: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the way to the fourteenth floor, Morton and his men had a stroke of dumb luck. When they were walking through the fifth-floor hall trying to find the staircase, a teenage girl in sweat pants ran around the corner and bumped into him.

  “Move it!” the girl said.

  “Hey, hey, what’s going on here?”

  “Can you help me? I left my little sister in the room upstairs and with the lights going on and off, I can’t find my way back up there. I don’t know where I am.”

  “Calm down, just calm down. What happened?”

  “I came down to the lobby to get us some cards to play with. Somehow, I must have gotten turned around and now I don’t know where the elevators or the stairs are to get back up there. The one I took only went up this far and I’m like nine floors away.”

  “Your room is on the fourteenth floor?”

  “Yeah. Listen, sir, she’s only four and I’ve already been out of the room for a half an hour. She’s got to be terrified by now, especially with the lights acting up like this. My parents are in the lobby catching up on the news.”

  “Okay, what’s your name?”

  “Brooke.”

  The name stunned Morton.

  “You okay?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut then reopened them. “Sorry ... it’s ... Brooke?”

  The teenager nodded.

  “That’s my daughter’s name, so ... hey, what a small world.”

  The teenager and Morton jogged down the hallway followed by the other men.

  “Where were all of you guys going?”

  “We were headed downstairs to the front desk. They had a bunch of assignments for us throughout the hotel. We’re the ones who leave those little pieces of chocolate on the pillows in your room.”

  Soon the dim lighting revealed that they were about to approach the elevator bay. The teenager raised her hand to hit the “Down” button.

  “That’s too risky in this instance,” Morton said. “The power is switching from the main supply to the backup generators and until they’re at full power, the supply is going to be fluctuating. We could get stuck in there.”

  He pointed to a door. “We’ll have to take the stairs.”

  The two ascended the staircase side by side as the others moved tentatively upwards behind them. As they did so, a rumble occurred below. The two froze in their tracks.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Morton said.

  The rumble happened again, this time, sounding like something snapped and unhinged.

  “I don’t think we should go up these stairs any further,” the teenager said.

  “It’s all right,” Morton said.

  He took a few more steps up then halted and turned to the girl.

  “You coming?”

  The teenager shook her head.

  “Maybe we should wait this out or go somewhere else.”

  “I’ll go check downstairs. If everything’s okay, I’ll come back and tell you.”

  As he passed the other men, he whispered sternly to them, “If you touch her, I’ll kill all of you…slowly.”

  They knew he had landed himself in La Isla Samsara jail for the mysterious disappearance of more than a half dozen of his construction workers and the rumors that news had sparked had rendered Mike Morton a very popular and feared individual at the lockup. They all nodded their agreement and he descended the staircase to find out what was going on.

  Morton went down the second level, then the first level. Emergency lights guided his view all the way down. The groaning increased. His heart pounded faster within Morton’s chest. The sound grew louder …

  Then, a loud explosion rattled the entire building. The surprise of the burst knocked Morton off his feet and onto the steps. He scrambled upwards, anticipating another to follow.

  Morton got back on his feet and climbed the stairs.

  “You there?” he called out.

  “I’m still here,” the teenager said.

  “Perhaps we should climb faster,” Morton suggested. “It sounds as if one of the generators blew or maybe a gas tank for the kitchens. They didn’t put them underground as I originally recommended.”

  As though in unison, the pair started back up the stairs, one step at a time, then increased their pace. When they reached the top of the staircase to the tenth floor, the girl tripped and stumbled.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t think so,” the girl replied. “I don’t think I can walk.”

  Morton picked her up and put her on her feet. The girl touched the floor with her tiptoes.

  “It’ll hurt if it’s flat down.”

  “Come on, Brooke. We’ve only got a few more flights to go.”

  The teenager wrapped her arm around Morton. He propped her up, and they walked up the remaining steps to the door of the fourteenth floor.

  Morton knocked confidently on the door of the presidential suite dressed neatly in the dirty, stolen waiter’s uniform. He stood right in front of the door’s peephole so the occupant could see him clearly and it wasn’t long before he heard rustling in the room. A little girl flung the door wide open and stared at them.

  “Brooke,” she cried. “Where have you been? I was hiding in the closet and when I gave up and came out, you were gone.”

  “I’ve been…”

  Mike Morton’s patience had worn out. He pushed the teenager into the room and his men stormed in behind him. Finally, he had reached his intended destination; the girl had been a lucky break. She had provided him the information that the children were alone in the room as well as easy access in; if push came to shove and things started to go pear-shaped again, they would make excellent hostages. The door slammed behind him and he heard one of the guys bolt it shut.

  “You,” he said to the tallest man. “Ummm, Stanley?”

  The man nodded.

  “Find something to tie that one up, she’s going to be a problem for sure. The little one is fine.”

  Mike walked over to the phone in the huge living room of the Samsara presidential suite and picked up the receiver. Certainly whoever was staying in this room would be privy to some excellent service from downstairs. He pressed the concierge button and listened as it rang.

  “Hello, front desk, this is Paulson speaking. How may I assist you?”

  “I’d like to order some room service, please.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Sandhurst. There is an extensive menu on the dining table in the suite’s living room. Select anything you would like and then press the button marked steward on your telephone to place your order. They will advise you how long it will be before your meal is brought in.”

  “Thank you, Paulson, that’s very kind of you. But this isn’t Mr. Sandhurst, this is Mike Morton. I’ve got both girls up here with me and my men. We’re tired and hungry but my biggest problem at this particular time is that Steve Masterson still thinks that he’s in charge around here. Paulson, I need him to know right away that this is no longer the case at Samsara.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Masterson couldn’t believe his ears as he held the phone in his violently shaking hands.

  What the fuck is Paulson saying about Mike Morton being in the building? That’s impossible. How the hell did he get in here? Undetected and with fifteen criminals at his back as well. I think it’s time that those FBI agents did some explaining. What the hell did I keep them here for if it wasn’t to keep the damn rabble out of the place and they let sixteen convicts stroll in here and take up residence in my presidential suite? Why, I oughta shoot every one of them in the head myself!

  “I’m taking the food up there myself, Paulson. It’s me he wants, not anybody else. We need to get the girls out of there before anyone in the hotel finds out what’s going on. I’d rather be the only hostage on the other side of that door when they do. It will cause less panic; they won’t care too much about me. Listen, get Daniels and Roberts up here immediately. I’m going to need
their help to end this quickly and neatly. They may make shitty watchmen, but there isn’t a lawman on earth that can out negotiate or out strategize an FBI agent. Furthermore, they’re our ace in the hole. That bastard Morton may know every nook and cranny in this place and he may have great knowledge about our current security system, but he certainly doesn’t know that we have thirty-four FBI agents and officers inside the resort.”

  “Yes, Mr. Masterson. I’ll send them right up.”

  Masterson stood up from his desk and paced the room. He looked out the window periodically trying to get a clear view of the property from the slats in the shutters.

  I thought that Carter would have opened them during the eye, he thought. Oh, for fuck’s sake, we must be having power supply issues as well.

  He dashed to the phone and dialed B6.

  “Yes, sir,” came a weary voice.

  “Carter, was that a generator I heard exploding?”

  “No, sir. It was the pool pump house. The entire stand of coconut trees that were the windbreak for it finally toppled and completely crushed the pumps. The diesel in the engines ignited and blew the whole thing sky high. Thank God for the rain. The flames were put out almost immediately.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. What’s happening with the power then?”

  “The cross-over system failed, we’ve had to switch each generator manually. It’s almost done.”

  “Okay. Get this place back online ASAP, Carter.”

  Masterson put the phone down and sighed while heavily sitting on the edge of his desk. He didn’t get a minute to relax before the two agents stepped into his office.

  “Hello, you two,” Masterson said quietly. “I assume that Paulson has briefed you?”

  “He has. I still don’t see how they could have gotten in undetected.”

  “It’s what I was telling you from the start, Agent Roberts. Morton knows everything there is to know about the structure of this building. He was my foreman for three years while we built it from the ground up.”

  “That kind of inside knowledge is hard to beat,” Daniels said.

  “I know. That’s why I plan to use the very same concept against the bastard. Inside knowledge.”

  “What do you mean?” Daniels asked.

  “We know that the FBI is in the hotel in numbers…Morton, on the other hand, has no idea you’re here.”

  ***

  Masterson slowly pushed the heavily-laden cart through the elevator doors and towards the presidential suite. Along the hallway walls on both sides of the room door were FBI agents dressed in black tactical vests and brandishing deadly firearms. It was overkill, Masterson knew; the men inside the room were unarmed and barely dangerous. But he couldn’t wait to see the look on Morton’s face when these men and women would storm into the room and wrestle each and every one of them to the ground. He smiled widely at the very thought of it.

  That fucker has caused me an eternal lifetime of fucking grief. Ever since he blackmailed my stupid father into giving him the foreman’s position here, I’ve been stuck cleaning up his damn messes and dealing with the crap he dished out, day after day, year after year. He had finally put the last nail in his own coffin when he’d dumped the last three bodies, though. To this day, no one knew how the men died. Maybe that was really what the families wanted the FBI to find out when they sent them here under false pretenses. I’d want to know, too, if they were my family. I’m just really ready to get him the hell out of my life!

  He nodded to Daniels, who knocked on the door loudly.

  “Who is it?” a girl’s voice came from inside the room.

  “It’s Steve Masterson. Mike, send the girls out so I can bring this food in for you and your men.”

  “That wasn’t the deal, Masterson. You know that.”

  “I’m not feeding any of you until the girls are safe. They don’t have anything to do with this and I want them out before their parents find out what’s going on up here. Once I bring this cart in, you’ll have the best hostage you could ever want…me!”

  “You’ve got a point. Are you alone?”

  “Of course not, Mike. The Security Chief’s here with some of his men, but that’s just to secure the girls and get them out of here.”

  “I don’t want any funny business, Steve.”

  “I understand, Mike. There won’t be any funny business.”

  Steve smiled at the agents and shook his head sarcastically. As he had explained to them, Mike Morton was a lot of things, crazy, maybe a murderous psychopath, definitely a sadist, but a hardened criminal he certainly was not. He wouldn’t even realize that he was throwing a very good hand to the table when he sent those two little girls out. It was up to Daniels and his team to capitalize on that once they were clear of the doorway.

  A few minutes later, the door swung open and the teenager the agents understood was called Brooke was practically kicked through the door. Her hands were tied in front of her and she was limping. To their surprise, she was also gagged which was a good thing because when she saw the amount of armed officers who lined the hallway her eyes grew as wide as saucers. Agent Roberts grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to one side, quickly covering the girl’s mouth with her hand as a precaution.

  “Be very quiet,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. “I’m going to hand you over to Agent Paula Rice now. She’ll take care of you. Keep quiet while I get your sister.”

  The girl nodded and moved along down the line until Agent Rice retrieved her.

  Roberts poised herself for the second grab and as soon as the little girl emerged from the room, she grabbed her and repeated the procedure before handing her off down the line of agents.

  Mike’s voice came from inside the suite again.

  “Okay, they’re safe now, Masterson. Come inside now, we have a lot to talk about.”

  Masterson pushed the cart quickly through the door as Daniels and Roberts looked at each other, puzzled.

  What is that fool doing? That wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to hang back while we stormed the room and took the men off-guard.

  They regrouped quickly and gave the team a hand signal. As soon as the bulky cart had cleared the door and Masterson seemed to have managed to push it in a fair distance, Daniels and Roberts drew their guns and stepped inside.

  That clever bastard!

  He’d kept the cart centered with the door but had only pushed it about ten feet inside the room. He stood with his back to the door, knowing that the men would crowd around the food to the front and sides of the cart. When he heard the agents yell, “Freeze!” Masterson ducked behind the cart and covered his head with his hands.

  Several shots were fired and there was a lot of unexpected fighting in the room around him. Agents were being attacked with makeshift weapons that the men had fashioned from the legs of broken dining chairs and rods taken down from the draperies; they had no choice but to fire on any of them that tried to attack.

  Suddenly, Masterson felt someone grab him by the collar and pull him from behind the food cart. He opened his eyes, hoping to see that Daniels had come to his rescue but, to his dismay, he was being dragged to the window by Mike Morton. He held one of the unconscious agents’ guns in his hand. Morton was dragging him backwards over the carpet like a sack of potatoes as he tried to position himself defensively within the room. Soon, all the criminals were either dead or unconscious and secured on the room floor. No agents had been killed but several were seriously injured.

  Daniels and Roberts looked up from the melee to see Morton standing with his back to the large window and his hand in the cuff of Masterson’s collar as he held a gun to the hotel executive’s head.

  “I’m not going back to that hellhole. I can’t take this shitter with me so I’m not going back there.”

  “Mr. Morton, put the gun down,” Roberts said. “No one has to get hurt here. We can work things out.”

  “I’ve heard that line in every cop movie I’ve ever watched, pretty lady. I�
�m not interested in any resolution that ends with this fucker still alive.”

  He pushed the gun firmly to Masterson’s head and added, “When I worked for this company, all he ever did was talk, talk, talk. He talked so much that even when I was playing my wonderful games with those guys way back in the old condemned storage container, he didn’t have a clue. His own men were disappearing from his site and he was so busy up here talking, talking, talking that he didn’t notice a thing.

  “You could have stopped me, Steve. That’s all I wanted, someone to stop me. I didn’t enjoy what I did to those guys, but I couldn’t stop myself. All I wanted was for you to stop talking and do something, Steve. Just get out there and stop me. You never did a thing for me though, so why was I surprised?”

  Mike Morton didn’t say another word. He looked straight up at Daniels and Roberts as if he wanted them to prepare for what they would have to do, then he pulled the trigger and shot Steve Masterson dead at his feet.

  As he moved to lift the gun, Roberts and Daniels both fired on him and Mike Morton fell dead on the floor of the presidential suite of the Samsara Resort.

  Epilogue

  When Karl woke up, he examined his environment. Rebecca’s naked body was still entwined with his and their vodka still stood on the table beside them. Karl smiled. They had managed to polish off more than half the bottle between their endless sessions of lovemaking and talking, but somehow, he had felt no effect of the alcohol. Maybe that’s what Rebecca meant by having control; he felt strangely powerful at the thought of having control over his drinking.

  Karl could hear sirens outside the window. He got up and went over to take a look outside. The weather was good, the sea was calm and the sun was actually shining. The disruptive shutters had been retracted from the window and Karl threw the glass pane open to let the crisp, clean breeze into the room.

  “Rebecca,” he said, “Get a robe on. Something’s happening downstairs.”