Darkness: Captain Riley II (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 2)

by Fernando Gamboa

  “The most important,” he said without smugness.

  “And he’s”—Riley coughed hesitantly—“what color?”

  Adolfo broke into laugher. “What color?” He grinned widely. “What color do you think? Green?” He laughed hard again. “He’s black, of course, like me.”

  Riley smiled too. “Of course,” he said. “It’s just surprising a black man got to be so important in a white community.”

  Now it was Adolfo who was surprised. “Surprising? Why?” he asked. “Where are you from?”

  “Boston.”

  “American? I understand there’s a large black population in your country.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “But they’re discriminated against in a lot of ways. And they certainly don’t get statues in the middle of the city. That’s why I was surprised to hear about your grandfather. I thought it would be even worse in a Spanish colony in Africa.”

  Adolfo shrugged. “I can’t say I like how things are here,” he said. “There’s a lot that should change. But on this island, the Fernandinos and emancipated blacks generally have the same rights and responsibilities as whites. We go to the same restaurants, schools . . . though there are still entrenched racist practices we have to get rid of,” he added, contorting his face. “They would never allow me, for example, to marry a white woman.”

  “Fernandinos? Emancipated?”

  “Fernandinos are Africans that came to the island a century ago with the British, like my family,” he said. “And emancipated blacks are natives of Fernando Póo who get an emancipation card.”

  “And what’s that?” Jack asked, voice shaking with the truck’s rattle.

  “It’s one of the Spanish authority’s formalities,” he explained. “Those who want it need to have a minimum level of schooling, economic solvency, and a probation period of several years to show perfect conduct. Only then can they get an emancipation card and be citizens with full rights. It is like something that makes them adults.”

  “And those that don’t?” Hudgens asked.

  “Those who don’t keep living as they please, but they don’t get certain rights like buying alcohol or going to white establishments, among many other things.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem like a bad system to get them to integrate into society,” the commander said after thinking it over a little. “Right?”

  Adolfo frowned slightly. It clearly wasn’t the first time someone had asked him that. “Allow me to ask you, Mr. . . .”

  “Larsson,” Hudgens lied, giving the name on his fake Swedish passport.

  “All right then, Mr. Larsson. When you come of age in your country, do they make you demonstrate perfect conduct or economic solvency to become a citizen? Do whites anywhere in the world need something to be considered adults other than being twenty-one years old?”

  Hudgens wasn’t expecting that question and certainly had no reply. “No,” he admitted thoughtfully.

  Just then the driver said, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

  Adolfo confirmed it was so and, with a grand gesture, said, “Welcome to the Villa Maximilian.”

  Passing through the two brick columns that marked the entrance to the estate was like entering a different world. They left a dark, untamed, seemingly impenetrable jungle and suddenly the landscape opened up to a well-tended meadow, dotted here and there with flower beds and trees. The evenly pruned guava, mango, and palm trees broke the illusion that they were on an estate in the south of Europe, an illusion that was supported by the presence of a three-story neoclassical building at the end of the road. It was at odds with the setting but somehow harmoniously integrated with that mini reproduction of the Garden of Eden.

  When they neared the building, they saw three figures waiting for them at the door—an older black man with an aristocratic bearing leaning on a cane and two white men. One was middle-aged, portly, with a pith helmet, short-sleeved shirt, and khaki shorts—looking as if he’d just gotten back from a safari; the other was shorter and wiry, his dark skin covered with long-sleeved, baggy clothes like the Spanish settlers wore.

  The truck went around the stone fountain in front of the house and stopped smoothly in front of the three men.

  “End of the road,” Adolfo said. “I told you it was a short trip.”

  “Thank you very much.” Riley offered his hand. “You have a very beautiful estate.”

  The young man acted like it was nothing. “This is the small one,” he said. “You have to see the one in San Carlos.”

  After a brief good-bye, the three sailors got out of the truck and set their attention on meeting the three men at the entrance.

  The one in the pith helmet came forward and reached out a hand. “Welcome!” he shouted with a strong English accent, smiling beneath his little mustache. “I’m Richard Lippett.” Then he moved sideways and added, “Allow me to introduce Mr. Maximiliano Jones, owner of the estate, and Mr. Abelino Zorrilla.”

  They exchanged greetings and introductions and immediately the host invited them inside the house.

  “We’ll be cooler,” he said, “and safe from the sand flies, which are still very active at this hour.”

  They followed him to a large room in the right wing of the building. Its white walls were decorated with paintings featuring tropical motifs. A couple of ceiling fans lazily turned above their heads, and there were comfortable armchairs around a little mahogany table.

  “Boy,” Jones said to the butler who had followed them in. “Get these gentlemen what they need and then take a rest.”

  “As you wish,” the servant said with a nod.

  “Get comfortable, gentlemen,” Jones added, motioning toward the chairs. “I’m going but I’ll leave the boy at your service. Make yourselves at home.”

  “You won’t sit with us?” Riley asked.

  The owner shook his head slowly. “I’m already too old for such business,” he said, smiling tiredly. “With age I’ve learned there are things it’s better not to know, so I’ll leave you to it in peace.” Then he leaned on his cane, turned, and left, closing the door behind him.

  When the latch clicked shut, the five men looked at each other silently, with the restlessness of conspirators, until Lippett sat and invited the others to do the same.

  “First of all,” he said languidly, “let me apologize for making you come this far. It wouldn’t have been good for them to see us together, so it was best for us to meet here, far from inquiring eyes.”

  “So why did you ask us to meet you in Hotel Montilla?” Jack asked.

  The Englishman shrugged.

  “When it comes to spying,” he said as if it were obvious, “paranoia is a virtue.”

  14

  Abelino Zorrilla, Lippett’s right hand on the island, was in charge of carrying out field operations. He was also a useful informant, having befriended the crew members of the Duchessa d’Aosta and the German families on Santa Isabel, whose members were the only people the two German officers on Likomba and Bibundi associated with.

  “Of the forty crew members of the Duchessa,” Zorrilla said, “twelve are officers and subofficers, but it would be impossible to get all of them to leave the ship for a party. Not even when we organized soccer matches could we manage that. At most we could get four or five to come.”

  Riley nodded thoughtfully.

  “And the Germans?” Hudgens asked, leaning over the map of Santa Isabel on the table, his index finger on the place where the position of the two German ships was marked.

  “That will be a little complicated,” Zorrilla said. “Those two are a couple of grouches who’ve been here over a year and haven’t even bothered to learn how to say ‘good morning’ in Spanish. They only leave their ships every once in a while to eat at the Lührs’, some German landowners who fled Cameroon a few years back.”

  “And these Lührs,” Jack said, “do you get along well with them?”

  “I get along well with everyone,” Zorrilla said with a smile. �
�And I certainly have a fair amount of, ahem, trust with the missus.”

  “Can you talk the missus into convincing the German officers?”

  Zorrilla tutted and shook his head doubtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. She’s a vain woman who doesn’t show up at anything she didn’t organize unless she’ll be the center of attention.”

  “Then tell her the party will be held in her honor and call it a day.”

  “She’s vain but not stupid, my friend. We need some good bait.”

  “Or we could offer some kind of bribe?” Hudgens suggested.

  “She’ll get suspicious right away,” Zorrilla said. “What I could do,” he added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “is play to her vanity and tell her the party would be a disaster without her because she’s one of the most important people in Santa Isabel. That you want to meet her personally,” he said to Riley, “and that if she doesn’t go, the German officers and other important people won’t either. Then I think she’ll arrange for the Germans to go too.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Riley said. “Who else will come?”

  “If I get the Lührs to come then the German consul will too. And I could get three or four classy couples from the island to give the thing more respectability.”

  “And what about the port garrison?” Hudgens asked.

  “That’s the easiest part,” Lippett said. “The Spanish will go to any party, and Captain Oliveda, who’s responsible for the arms depot, is no exception. He’s the officer in charge of the garrison.”

  “But there will be a soldier on watch at the dock, right?”

  Lippett turned his hand back and forth. “More or less,” he said. “At night there’s always two local soldiers watching the docks, but it shouldn’t be a big problem for the English commandos to take care of them. From what I’ve heard, sometimes they don’t even give the guards bullets for their rifles.”

  “We could take care of them,” Hudgens suggested, glancing at Riley. “We’ll be tied to the dock, so it would be easy to go up quietly and remove them from combat.”

  Lippett shook his head. “Your mission is to keep the guests occupied far from the docks and make sure any suspicions about what happens tomorrow night fall on you. You shouldn’t interfere with the operation under any circumstances,” he said firmly. “You do your part and the SOE commandos will do theirs. Clear?”

  “But we can help if you let us,” Hudgens insisted.

  The Englishman hit the table. “No!” he shouted. “Any action on your part could jeopardize the whole operation! Don’t you understand? This is all planned to the minute. At 23:30, just after they turn off the generator in Santa Isabel, which they do every night to save fuel, the tugboat Vulcan and launch Nuneaton will enter the bay, lights off, with forty commandos onboard. They’ll capture the three ships, throw off the mooring lines, and immediately pull them out of the bay into international waters, where the corvette HMS Violet will escort them to Nigeria. And all that in under fifteen minutes. Any improvised action on your part could ruin Operation Postmaster, understand?” He paused and added severely, “Under no circumstance”—he stared at the three sailors one by one—“I repeat, under no circumstances should you break from the established plan or go near the German ships or the Duchessa d’Aosta,” he said with a frown. “Is that clear?”

  The ONI commander sighed loudly and sat back in his chair in apparent capitulation. “Okay, okay,” he said, lifting his hands. “On another topic, what about the coastal artillery? According to the reports there are cannons on either side of the bay.”

  Lippett waved the subject off like a moth. “Forget them. The cannons are stored in the depot to prevent rust. It will take at least an hour to get them in position after the alarm is sounded, and I doubt they even have ammunition to fire.”

  The five of them went silent, with their eyes locked on the map. They’d been talking for over an hour, and it seemed all the loose ends had been tied up. Or almost all of them.

  “We still haven’t gotten to the Italians,” Jack said loudly. “How are we going to get their officers to the casino?”

  Riley scratched his scar and asked pensively, “Of those Italian officers, do any of them like to leave their ship? Talk an afternoon walk or have a drink in the city?”

  Zorrilla nodded immediately. “There’s a group of four or five officers on the Duchessa that have a drink in the afternoon at a bar called Chiringuito on the seafront, right next to the docks. Why do you ask? Are you going to invite them personally?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It won’t do any good, believe me. They have strict orders for no more than half the officers to leave the ship at the same time. No matter what you say,” he added, “you won’t be able to convince them.”

  Riley smiled mischievously. “I didn’t say it was going to be me.”

  The meeting lasted about another half hour, which they used to clarify the rest of the details of the operation and what would be done once it was carried out.

  They found out Lippett had decided to stay on the island, running the risk of being interrogated, but he was convinced the Spanish authorities wouldn’t go as far as to detain him without concrete evidence. He was sure too that if it did get to that point, the British consul on the island would protect him inside the consulate as long as needed.

  Zorrilla, for his part, said he had a fishing canoe on Carboneras Beach, a half mile west of the city, which was ready to go to Nigeria the night of the raid.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” Riley said.

  “Of course.”

  Riley looked at him closely. “Lippett is doing this for his country and we’re doing it for ours”—he motioned to Jack and Hudgens sitting next to him—“because we’re at war. But I don’t understand why you’re doing it. You’re risking your life, forced to flee, with no chance of returning to Spain . . . in exchange for nothing.”

  The ever-present smile on the Spaniard’s face disappeared as if by magic. “I hate national Catholicism, fascism, Nazism, and all they represent. Anything I can do to undermine them and help the Allies with the war will be good for Europe in general and Spain in particular. I’m convinced that if you British and Americans win,” he said, “Franco’s days will be numbered and Spain will be free again.”

  “An idealist,” Jack said.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Perhaps. I never stopped to think about it. I just do what I believe is right, and I firmly believe the right thing now is to help you give a nice kick in the nuts to the Germans and Italians, and by proxy to Franco.” He smiled again. “It’s worth the risk just for that.”

  The impression Riley had of Zorrilla from the start had been confirmed, and he gave him a look of recognition. The man reminded him a lot of his old comrades in the Lincoln Brigade.

  “It’s an honor to know men like you,” he said sincerely.

  “The honor is all mine,” Zorrilla replied. “But tell me, how do you all intend to escape from the island? Once the chaos calms down you’ll be the first they look for. I’d hate to be in your shoes if you got caught.”

  “We hope that doesn’t happen.”

  “But then how will you do it? I’m going to sneak out during the party, but you’ll have to stay in the casino, entertaining the guests until the attack starts, and it’ll be too late by then. The first thing they’ll do when they find out what happened is arrest you. And of course they won’t let you sail off on your boat.”

  “That information is not—” Hudgens started to say.

  “The boat will start its engines and leave when the city lights go out at 23:30, when the commandos show up,” Riley interrupted, ignoring Hudgens’s killer glare, “but we’ll have an auxiliary launch hidden for us, waiting. When the explosions start and everyone’s running to the docks to see what happened, we’ll get in the launch and leave. Before anyone knows what hit them,” he said with a smile, “we’ll be on our way to Nigeria.”

  “Seems like
a good plan,” Zorrilla said.

  “We’ll find out on the fifteenth,” Riley said, then he asked Lippett, “and what about this Maximiliano Jones?” He looked at the door. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “Mr. Jones isn’t part of the operation.”

  “I knew that because he isn’t in the room, but we met in his house and there are witnesses that saw us all together. The Spanish police will logically think he’s implicated.”

  Lippett opened his hands to show indifference. “We can’t control all the details, Captain. We’ll hope no one has a slip of the tongue, and if they do, we believe Mr. Jones’s influence on the island will be enough to keep him out of jail.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Lippett leaned forward, lowering his voice. “If not,” he hissed, “it will be a real pity. But we’re at war, don’t forget, and we’re all worth sacrificing. The two of us and even the three of you and your crew if necessary.”

  15

  As it did every day in the middle of the afternoon in that part of the world, the sun began its headlong flight toward the horizon, tinting the Harmattan haze with ocher and burnt red.

  Big bats the size of seagulls started to stir at the tops of the tall palms along the pier, and the people of Santa Isabel shook off their midday lethargy. The town came alive with idle locals contemplating storefronts, timid couples looking for benches on which to avoid inquiring eyes, and gentlemen with large mustaches in guayabera shirts tipping their hats to neighbors on their way to a gin fizz to ease off the afternoon.

  Near the balustrade of the bay’s boardwalk was a small white one-story building that seemed to be the center of Santa Isabel social life. Couples or young people in groups entered and left continuously, and the light dance music escaping from its terrace, lit by colorful lamps, seemed to spread over everything nearby.

  “Ready?” Carmen asked the woman with her.

  “I’ve never done this,” Julie said. “Je ne sais pas if . . .”