by Paul Moomaw
We stared at each other while I tried to think of something to say. I was saved from that by a sound at the door. Someone was rattling the handle, trying to get in. Then there was a loud, impatient knock.
Imry glanced at the door, then looked back at me.
“I should just turn you over to them right now,” There was venom in his voice.
I jumped up, and pulled the stinger from my belt.
“Look, this is ridiculous. I mean, I'm supposed to be rescuing you, right?” I waved the gun at him as menacingly as I could manage. “But if I go down right now, you go down with me. Understand?"
He sat there, glaring at me, and I could almost hear the relays click in his head as he weighed my words, and then capitulated. He jerked his thumb toward a door on the other side of the room.
“That's a bathroom. Go in there."
I scurried to the door and ducked inside, leaving it slightly ajar, as he went to the main door and slid the bolt back.
A man in uniform stepped in with a tray.
“What the shit did you have the door locked for?” he asked in Spanish. “I don't have all night to wait on you!” Imry shrugged, spread his palms, and answered in what I assumed was Hungarian.
The guard rolled his eyes roofward, shoved the tray into Imry's hands, and walked out.
“Leave the fucking door unlocked, next time,” he said, and slammed the door behind him.
I reentered the room. Imry was sitting down again, taking the cover off the tray.
“My snack,” he said.
“Pretty soft life,” I replied sarcastically.
“Things have looked up since my Chinese friends arrived. When I first got here, Noriega had me in some hole in his cellar, down with the rats."
I walked to the door.
“Two nights,” I reminded him. “We'll be arriving during the festivities on the lake."
“They really will kill me, you know.” I believed the fear that flickered across his face.
I dug into my belt.
“Take this,” I said, tossing him a small. silver cube. “Keep your door bolted that night. If anybody besides me tries to get in, hold that in both hands and give it a twist. Then toss it on the floor and hide in the bathroom. It's a little gas bomblet. It will knock out anyone who tries to get in."
“And what about me?"
“Oh, it'll knock you out, too. But it's harmless. You won't even have a headache when you wake up."
I opened the door just enough to slip through, and left before he could argue, with him tossing the little cube doubtfully from hand to hand.
I headed down toward the main house, where lights were still blazing through the giant windows. But when I got a peek inside, there was no one around. I could hear voices by the pier and headed cautiously in that direction.
“You are the gringo?” The words, spoken almost in a whisper, came from just below my left ear. I wheeled and looked down.
Manolo stood there, his back to a tree, staring up at me impassively.
“You were with the foreigner who doesn't get to go anywhere.” The boy pointed up the hill to the building Imry was lodged in. “I followed you. Are you going to kill us?"
“I don't kill little boys."
“But you threatened to kill the foreigner. I heard you."
“I was just teasing him. We're great friends, he and I. We were just having a visit and joking around. You know how grownups joke around."
He shook his head solemnly. “Are you going to help him get away? I think I would like that, because then maybe those other foreigners will go away, too."
“You don't like them, do you."
“They frighten me, sometimes. And they make my papa upset. He never spends time with me any more, and he gets in bad moods."
“Let's make a deal.” I knelt down beside him. “I'm going to leave pretty quick. Next time I come back, I'll take all the foreigners away, and then it'll just be you and your father again. But you mustn't tell anybody you saw me tonight."
Manolo twisted back and forth on the balls of his feet. He took a step forward and put his face right in front of mine. “You promise you will take them all away?"
“Every one.” One way or another.
He stepped back and nodded very slowly. Then he turned and vanished into the trees.
I started toward the pier again, still led by voices. The loudest voice belonged to Noriega, an upset Noriega, yelling and waving his arms around while a couple of uniformed men quailed before him.
Beg was there, too, with the two Chinese. And as I watched, Manolo slipped from the shadows and ran to his father, who put an arm absently around his son's shoulders as he continued to talk, punctuating his words with violent motions of his free hand.
Who wasn't there was Cruz, and as I slipped closer to the pier I saw with a sinking feeling that his boat was also gone. I checked my watch; it was ten thirty. So much for the midnight departure. Nothing seemed to be going according to plan, and my confidence in being able to pull off a successful attack in two nights dwindled.
In the meantime I had to hope that either Cruz would come back, or I would find a boat to steal somewhere on the island. I ought to be able to find something, I thought; islands always have boats lying around—at least that's the way it always is in the old spy thrillers they show at the Twentieth Century Pavilion on the Greenhouse Wall.
A popper skimmed over the top of the island and landed at the foot of the pier. The pilot jumped out and saluted Noriega, then stood there and held the salute while Noriega jumped up and down and yelled at him, too. It was the first time I had seen anyone salute the General, and the whole scene added a small touch of comedy to an otherwise depressing situation.
Noriega climbed in the popper and took off, somewhat shakily. He circled the pier once, almost stalling the craft, escaping into a sideslip which took him close enough to the lake to raise a mighty spray that hid the craft briefly, then recovering, finally and shooting up into the night sky, heading south.
The men on the pier watched the small craft disappear over the hills. Then they walked back up the path to the house, Manolo trotting behind them, leaving the guard sitting on the pier. They passed close enough to me that I could smell Beg again. I was happy that Beg was on the island. I wanted him to be there in two nights, and I was going to be even happier to put a permanent end to his odor.
I moved slowly away from the pier and started stalking the water line, looking for a boat. There wasn't much of a beach, just grass and rocks, and what seemed to be the foundations of old buildings which had been demolished. I supposed they had bothered the General's esthetic sense.
After half an hour I hadn't made much progress. At this rate, even if there was a boat to steal, it would be morning before I found it. I sat down on a rock and stared disconsolately out over the lake. There had to be a better way, but my brain wasn't functioning very creatively. One of the General's motor launches burbled slowly by, and I watched it disappear around a bend in the shoreline, glanced away, then jerked my head back again.
Out on the water, barely discernible in the darkness, another boat appeared. It glided slowly, soundlessly, in the direction of the pier. I decided it had to be Cruz, but the problem was how to get his attention. I was afraid to call out. I couldn't be too sure how far I had come from the guard, but I knew sound would carry well in the still air. In fact, as I listened, I could hear oars creaking across the quiet water.
I opened my belt, pulled out my one remaining glow-wire, popped the tip and hoped for the best. The waning moon still hadn't risen, and the wire seemed preternaturally bright in the darkness, so bright, in fact, that I could no longer see the boat.
I waved the glowing wire and waited. After what seemed like an eon, but couldn't have been more than half a minute, I heard oars again, getting louder.
I tossed the wire into the lake, where it sank into half a meter of water and lit up the sandy bottom, then ducked behind a rock, stinger in hand. If it wasn
't Cruz I didn't want to be a lighted target.
The boat pulled up against the shore, and I could make out Cruz’ face in the darkness.
“Is this the bus stop?” I asked.
“Express service,” came the reply, with a low laugh.
I ran to the boat and climbed in.
“I thought I was going to have to swim back, for sure,” I said.
“What were you doing this far from the pier?"
“Looking for a boat to steal."
Cruz laughed again. “If you had gone much farther in that direction, you would have found one for sure. Just around that small point,” he pointed to a low, rocky outcropping, “is where the General's gunboats tie up."
“It would have beat swimming,” I said. “What the hell happened, anyway?"
“I don't know. We were eating, listening to Noriega's usual line of bullshit about how wonderful he is. All of a sudden one of the servants comes into the room and talks to him. He goes out, comes back a few minutes later, all in a lather, and tells me to go back to town. ‘And make fucking sure you're fucking available if I fucking need you,’ he yells.” Cruz laughed again. “He's not the most articulate man in the world. But I never did find out what was happening. I saw a popper land at the pier and take off again, though."
“Noriega was flying it when it took off,” I said. “I imagine he was headed for Huetamo."
There was a long silence, filled only with the sound of rowing.
“All right, gringo. What do you know that I don't?"
“We seem to have made a small mistake the other night. Remember when we pushed those vehicles down the mountainside and torched them?"
“Of course?"
“Somebody fell out on the way down. They found his body, all full of holes."
“Shit!"
The rest of the trip was a bit on the morose side.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 14
We were a subdued little group—Cruz, myself, Carlos, Pilar, Beto, and a couple of Cruz’ officers—as we sat around the kitchen table and made our plans. Cruz wanted the policemen there because they were his best marksmen, he said. Beto was there because he had no place else to go, and because he wanted, for obvious personal reasons, to be right up front when the action began.
We added up what we had, versus what Noriega had, and we didn't like the arithmetic. Three patrol boats and five poppers kept adding up to eight, every time. Eight targets; seven smart-wire rockets to take them out with.
“Eight difficult targets,” I pointed out. “I got a good look at one of those boats. The only sure shot is right at the water line. That would be difficult enough in daylight. We won't even have a moon, tomorrow night."
“We will simply have to get very close,” one of the officers, a man named Lopez, said. His voice was matter-of-fact, accepting; if that was the way it had to be, that was the way it had to be.
“I'm worried about losing the surprise factor, too,” I went on. “The thing with Huetamo bothers me."
“What thing at Huetamo?” Carlos asked.
“Later,” I said.
“No! Tell me. What thing?"
“It wasn't clean,” Cruz said. “We left tracks."
“What kind of tracks?"
“A corpse full of bullet holes.” He sighed, shook his head. “So stupid. And so unnecessary."
“I suppose you think it's all my fault?” Carlos snapped.
“At this point it doesn't matter,” Cruz replied, but Carlos wouldn't be stopped.
“Now if things get fucked up, you can blame it all on me, can't you! Instead of this fucking gringo, with his promises, and his big-deal weapons that don't work."
Cruz stared at Carlos, his eyes cold under lowered brows. “Shut up,” he said.
“There's another thing,” I said. “Imry told me that the Chinese agents promised him the only way he'll leave the island alive is with them."
Cruz looked skeptical. “You believe him?"
I nodded. “We need to get to him before they do. The best would be if I can reach the island before anything starts."
“Can you paddle a boat?"
“Maybe I can learn on the way,” I smiled.
Beto leaned forward. “I can do that. I would be very happy to go with you. You should have help anyway."
“The big-time guerrilla,” Carlos sneered. “We don't need beginners in important positions. I'll go with Blue."
I looked across the table at him. He looked back, challenging, mocking with his smile.
“No,” I said. “I don't want you with me."
“What are you afraid of, gringo?"
“Your stupidity."
The mocking smile vanished. A reply formed on his lips, but before he could speak, Cruz broke in again.
“Business, please. We will have thirty armed men, in fifteen boats. If we can get them all to the island, that will be enough. But we have to reach the island."
“We have to get rid of the poppers,” Lopez said.
I shook my head. “I'm more concerned about the patrol boats/"
“I agree,” Cruz said. “The poppers scare people, like killer bees. But the boats are more dangerous. They will each have three or four armed crewmen aboard. And they carry laser cannon. They are deadly on the water and off it."
“How are the poppers armed?"
“Automatic cannon. Twenty millimeter, I think. And only the pilot aboard, who must both fly and shoot.” He grinned. “I watched them at target practice, once. They're not much to worry about, compared to the boats."
“On the island, this evening, I saw maybe a dozen men,” I said. “Can we be pretty sure there won't be more?"
“I think so. And I have a man monitoring the radio. At this point, if Noriega wanted to bring in any of his men from outlying posts, and have them at the island by evening, he would have to call them in now. And any who come later won't matter to us. Also, two men of that dozen belong to me."
“So if we all make it to the island, and the boats are taken out, we will be thirty-two against ten."
“Plus Noriega himself, and the three foreigners."
“Still, not bad odds,” I said. “How will Noriega's men be armed?"
“Very well, I'm afraid. Automatic rifles with explosive ammunition, percussion grenades, and some gas grenades."
“And our men?"
“Less well. Rifles such as the one you used at Playa Azul; good enough, but with not so much firepower as Noriega's men. He has always kept the best for his personal guard. He's a little paranoid, you know? I'll have a good automatic rifle.” He smiled self-depreciatingly. “I am one of the General's privileged characters. And there are those four grenades that came in the shipment."
“Right,” I said. “I want one of those with me."
I could see the arithmetic going on in Cruz’ head. “I hesitate,” he said. “We have so little real firepower."
“I may need extra protection,” I insisted.
He mulled it over some more. “Very well,” he said, finally. “Now, all three patrol boats will do duty on this evening as fireworks platforms."
“We hope,” I murmured, half to myself.
“We hope,” Cruz agreed. “If we assign two rocket launchers to each boat, we increase our odds of knocking them out."
“That leaves the poppers,” Carlos said. “You may think they're harmless, but they can do a lot of damage."
“I know, Carlos. I don't dismiss them lightly. But we have some advantages. There will be scores of butterfly boats on the water, each with a lantern—very hard to find targets from the air at night. And we will have one rocket to take one of them out. That probably should be the very first order of business, before anything else happens."
“A popper going down in flames would make a very nice signal for everyone,” I said.
Cruz nodded enthusiastically. “Very true. In fact, I'll take that job on myself. Now, we will have six boats attacking the patrol launches. Yo
u,” pointing to me, “will be with Beto in another boat, and I will be in yet another one."
“That leaves seven for the infantry,” I said.
“Oh, very good,” Carlos’ voice dripped with the overdone sarcasm of the very young. “The gringo is a mathematical genius. We are saved."
We all ignored him. Cruz placed a piece of paper on the table, drew a crude outline of the island.
“Here,” he pointed to the map, “is the pier we landed at this evening. It will have a guard. If we can sneak someone in there, and take the guard out, it will reduce the odds."
“Torreon is the best poacher in the state,” Lopez said with a low laugh. “Give him that job."
“Done.” Cruz returned the laugh. “Here,” and he pointed to a cove, “is where the patrol boats dock. The path from there to the house goes over a hill, giving us the high ground over the house, over the barracks room, and over the guest cottage. I say three boats there."
“Is it guarded?” I asked.
“Usually. But again, only by one man most of the time.” He moved his finger to another place on the map. “At this spot is an old light tower. It's easy to spot.” He looked at me. “And it's a quick run from there to where they are keeping Imry. Will he be there?"
“I think so,” I hadn't told anyone about my encounter with Imry, about his negative attitude. We all had enough to worry about already.
Cruz turned to the map again.
“This is a small beach,” he said. “It would not ordinarily be guarded, and there is a path that leads straight to the main house. The remaining boats can land there. It offers another advantage as well. The path goes past the landing pad for the poppers. There is a storage bunker there for their ammunition and fuel."
“Blowing that will make a nice distraction."
“It will break the General's heart. He loves those poppers. The only thing he loves more is his little son."