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

by Fernando Gamboa

  A compliment from a woman like her was not one Riley wanted to reject.

  “Though I don’t understand the carnation detail,” she said, adjusting the lapel. “It’s a little weird.”

  “It reminds me of an old archaeologist friend from a Shanghai club in ’thirty-five.”

  Carmen looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were in Shanghai.”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another day.” He settled the issue with a kiss on her lips. “By the way,” he whispered in her ear, “when this is all done, you, me, and that dress are going to have a good time together in my cabin.”

  “No more time to waste,” Hudgens urged. “Enough good-byes.” Then he clapped hard and said, “Everyone in position. Operation underway!”

  When they followed Amilivia into the casino, thirty heads turned toward them at once—with expressions of surprise and lust from the men and indignation from a small group of women huddled at the bar.

  “Come in,” Amilivia said with an inviting gesture.

  The tables had been arranged in a U shape around the room. In the center was a big space to be used as a dance floor.

  Above them, some ceiling fans turned lazily, incapable of following the rhythm of the orchestra playing on the record player.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the owner announced. “It’s my honor to present Captain Smith and his beautiful fiancée, as well as the crew of the Pingarrón.”

  The room erupted in a round of applause that ranged once again from the sincere enthusiasm of the Italians to the obvious discomfort of the wives present.

  Acting as a proud master of ceremonies, Amilivia went on to introduce them one by one to the guests, starting with the governor and another half dozen gentlemen—all impeccably dressed in white linen or elegant guayaberas—holding big cigars and glasses of liquor on ice.

  “Captain Smith,” he said. “This is Mr. Soraluce, acting governor of the island.”

  “We’ve already gotten to know each other,” the governor replied, shaking hands a little longer than necessary. “Though not as much as I would’ve liked.”

  “Great to see you again, Governor,” Riley said, trying to ignore Jack coughing behind him.

  “And these men are Dr. José Flores,” Amilivia went on, “Cipriano García, José Antonio Vega, Heinrich Lühr, and Captain Oliveda, our military commander.”

  Riley, Jack, Carmen, and Julie greeted the men one by one. All except the governor tried in vain to keep their eyes off the two women, not out of decorum but because their wives were watching them closely from the other side of the room, making mental notes of each unsavory look so they could reprimand their husbands the following day with mathematical precision.

  The round of introductions continued with the representatives of the Duchessa d’Aosta, headed up by Captain Umberto Valle and First Mate Antonio Bussani, who were accompanied by another nine enthusiastic naval officers. Then they approached a group of ladies who tried to show polite indifference, though they would have taken Julie and Carmen’s eyes out with teaspoons had it been socially acceptable. And finally, Amilivia took them to a group of Germans, where they found the two officers of the Likomba, Captain Herbert Spetch—the same they had met in the port office the night they arrived, but he didn’t seem to recognize them—and Operator Franz Iwanski, along with the German consul, his secretary, Mrs. Lühr, and Abelino Zorrilla, who looked at Riley, trying to say something that didn’t translate.

  Once the introductions were over, Amilivia invited them to take their seats at the tables, and immediately a line of waiters appeared carrying plates of peanut chicken and roast fritambo, which turned out to be a little antelope no bigger than a cat, with a yucca garnish.

  As soon as it seemed everyone was focused on their plates, Riley excused himself to wash his hands, got up, and walked to the balcony in the back that looked right out over the water. In the foreground he could see the two German barges, almost right between them the Duchessa d’Aosta, and farther off the Pingarrón with all its lights off as Hudgens had ordered.

  After a moment Zorrilla appeared.

  “What’s going on?” Riley asked directly.

  “Still nothing,” Zorrilla said. “But the German officers have already said a bunch of times that they’re leaving after dinner, and we haven’t been able to get them to drink anything. Seems the sons of bitches are teetotalers.”

  Riley looked at his watch. “It’s not even ten.”

  “I know. And to top it off, though I assured them you have a Spanish passport, they immediately noticed your American accent,” he said with a grimace. “They didn’t like that too much. Almost as little as Mrs. Lühr liked the two ladies with you taking the spotlight.”

  “Well, we’ll have to make sure they stay—by any means necessary.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but it won’t be easy.”

  “If it was easy, we wouldn’t have put on this whole circus just to distract them, right?”

  The Spaniard seemed to reflect on this point. “Of course, of course,” he admitted, “but I’m going to need help.”

  Riley put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll send reinforcements as soon as dinner’s over. But till then, do what you have to to keep them here, okay?”

  Zorrilla nodded. “We’ll see if the miningas have more luck than the alcohol,” he murmured and turned to go back to the dining room.

  A moment later Riley followed him and sat next to Jack. “Something wrong?” Jack asked furtively.

  “Still don’t know,” he replied, glancing at where the Germans sat. “Could be.”

  Jack quickly understood and discreetly tapped his jacket below the left side of his chest. “If things get ugly we can always resort to more drastic measures.”

  Riley shook his head. “Only as a last resort,” he urged in reference to the pistols they carried. “We’d put all of us and the operation at risk.”

  “Then what are you going to do if things get complicated?”

  “I still don’t know,” Riley admitted. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, eat, drink, and try to look like you’re enjoying dinner.”

  Jack eyed his steaming plate of fritambo, which was seasoned with spices and came with yucca, palm, and fried plantain, all bathed in coconut milk. “I’ll try,” he said, sticking his fork in the roast and putting a large bite in his mouth. “For the mission.”

  18

  When the waiters started to collect the second plates and serve dessert, the casino owner went to the middle of the room to address the guests. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in an important tone, “when you’re done with dessert, please remember that you can go up on our roof, where everything is prepared to enjoy this magnificent party under the light of the stars with good music and an open bar.” Then he turned to where the Germans sat and added, “Courtesy of Mrs. Lühr.”

  The diners gave an appreciative round of applause. Mrs. Lühr looked confused but returned the thanks with a nod.

  The only ones who didn’t clap were Riley and Jack, who instead looked at each other uneasily.

  “The roof?” Jack asked the captain quietly. “Did you know anything about that?”

  “First I’ve heard,” Riley said, trying to make eye contact with Zorrilla, who was sitting with the Germans on the other side of the room.

  “You can see the bay clearly from the roof,” Jack said, thinking aloud.

  “I know,” Riley replied, getting impatient as Zorrilla chatted animatedly with the Lührs without deigning to glance at him.

  “Even with their lights off,” Jack whispered with concern, “someone could see the Pingarrón jet away and the English ships show up. Might as well sell popcorn for the show.”

  Instead of responding, Riley threw his napkin on the table, stood up, and strode around the tables toward Zorrilla.

  “Mr. Zorrilla?” he said with a smile as false as the party. “Can you come with me for a minute? I’d like to ask you abo
ut some business.”

  Immediately the German cohort shot him frowns and inquisitive looks. His American accent was definitely not welcome at that table.

  Zorrilla seemed to hesitate a moment, but Riley’s urgency caused him to get up and look apologetically at the others.

  “Business is business!” he said with a tense smile. “I’ll be right back!”

  The Spaniard followed Riley to the terrace, and once there the captain spat, “Did you know about the roof?”

  Zorrilla looked at him, surprised. “Of course. You didn’t? It’s the custom after a dinner.”

  “No, no, I didn’t. God damn it. I’m going to talk to Amilivia so he can cancel it. We can’t let anyone leave the dining room.”

  Zorrilla shook his head. “Don’t do that,” he said. “The custom is to go on the roof to enjoy the night air. It’s too hot down here.”

  Riley sighed impatiently. “But don’t you realize? You can see the whole bay from up there. If they see the English ships appear, they’ll sound the alarm and everything will be over before it begins.”

  Zorrilla shook his head again. “Don’t worry about that,” he said reassuringly. “The lights on the roof will shine in and keep anyone from seeing out. You could launch an invasion on the bay and no one would notice.”

  Riley’s features relaxed slightly, but there was still an issue. “And when the electricity goes out at eleven?” he asked. “When everything’s dark there won’t be lights blinding them.”

  “No problem,” Zorrilla said calmly. “By then the whole city will be dark, and there’s no moon in the sky. Also, everyone’ll be pretty drunk.”

  Riley thought it over for a few seconds. “All right,” he muttered. “We’ll hope you’re right.”

  “Don’t worry,” the man urged with a confident smile. “I come here almost every day.”

  “Okay.” Riley patted his shoulder. “Get back to your table now before they miss you too much. And by the way,” he added when the Spaniard had turned to leave, “Amilivia thanking Mrs. Lühr for the party was your work, right?”

  Zorrilla nodded with an astute smile. “With that ego she couldn’t deny it publicly,” he explained. “And now as hostess she’ll have to stay till the end, and the rest of the Germans along with her. One less thing to worry about.”

  At ten thirty, the guests—with the exception of Dr. Flores and his wife, who excused themselves saying they had to see a patient early the next day—were already on the roof. They drank and chatted excitedly under a plethora of lamps and colored flags, which, along with the quartet playing popular songs, gave the event the air of a village festival.

  As Zorrilla had anticipated, the light was too bright for anyone to see beyond the railing, and Riley, sitting at a table a little ways away, watched with satisfaction as various Italians flitted about Carmen and Julie like moths. The less ambitious of them gathered around the miningas who had showed up after the dinner.

  Only the two German officers looked like they wanted to leave.

  Though knowing he wouldn’t be able to see anything, Riley looked discreetly toward the bay, then at his watch. It was almost time.

  “Are you enjoying the party?”

  The governor’s voice had taken him by surprise.

  “Very much,” he said, pretending to smile while hoping the governor wouldn’t sit down.

  “May I?” Governor Soraluce asked, slightly drunk and pointing at the empty chair.

  Riley smiled again, cursing inside. “Of course.”

  The man sat down, looking as exhausted as if he’d run a marathon. “These stairs are criminal,” he said, sighing and pointing behind him. Then he said what he’d come for. “Seems your fiancée’s having a very good time.”

  “So it seems,” Riley answered drily.

  Just then a flash lit up the horizon, and Riley inadvertently started in his seat.

  “Easy,” Soraluce said, touching his elbow. “It’s just a storm. Nowadays they’re very common.” And as if to verify this fact, the sound of a distant thunderclap followed.

  For a moment, Riley thought someone had opened fire on the English ships, which would be very close to the bay by then. His heart beat faster in his chest.

  “Excuse my indiscretion,” the governor said, alcohol seemingly having gotten to his tongue, “but doesn’t it bother you?” He raised his glass in the direction of the Italians, who surrounded the women like wolves.

  “Should it?”

  “Well,” he coughed. “I wouldn’t be so calm if my fiancée was fenced in by a dozen sailors, Italians no less. It’s as if . . . as if it doesn’t matter that much to you. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  Riley, who was only half following the conversation, looked at him uneasily. “Understand?”

  “I see it in your eyes. I have a great instinct for these things, you know. And I know you and I share certain tastes.”

  Now Riley knew exactly where this was going. “Forgive me, Governor, but I think—”

  “José Luís, please,” he interrupted, resting his hand on Riley’s arm. “Call me José Luís.”

  “Okay, José Luís. I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

  Soraluce shook his head, convinced. “If you truly desired that woman,” he insisted, motioning toward Carmen again in the unsteady way of the drunk, “you wouldn’t be sitting here talking with me while your fiancée was trying to seduce a troop of sailors ten yards away.”

  Riley closely observed the governor. He almost smiled when he thought that, paradoxically, with a whole web of lies he’d woven since he’d landed, the governor didn’t believe the one true thing.

  “You’re right, José Luís,” he said, to the governor’s joy, but his face changed when Riley added, “I don’t know what I’m doing here talking with you instead of being there with my fiancée. Excuse me.”

  And buttoning his tuxedo jacket, Riley got up and headed on a collision course with the pack of Italians.

  He quickly pushed through them like an icebreaker, ignoring the angry complaints in the language of Dante until he found himself in front of Carmen, who looked at him with surprise and alarm when she assumed something had gone wrong. Her worry subsided when Riley gave her a calm look and offered her his hand, asking, “May I have this dance, miss?”

  Carmen smiled. “I already told these gentlemen I don’t like dancing with sailors,” she said sweetly. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “And you can’t make an exception?” he countered with a wink. “I promise your reputation will be fine. I have references.”

  “Oh okay, if you have references that’s a different story,” she said, pleased. And to the consternation of the Italians who had been begging her for a dance the whole night, Carmen took Riley’s hand and followed him to the center of the roof, where an opening between the tables allowed for a small space to dance.

  They joined hands and got close to each other while the rest of the guests looked on.

  When their cheeks touched, Carmen asked in his ear, “Everything good?”

  “Yeah, as far as I know,” he answered in hers.

  “And Jack, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “He already left. So we don’t all disappear at once.”

  “Good thinking.”

  They were silent for a few seconds, moving their legs to the Cole Porter song: “If bare limbs you like, / If Mae West you like, / Or me undressed you like . . .”

  “You’re not a bad dancer,” Carmen said, looking in his eyes. “Did you know?”

  Riley knew her easy tone was a way of covering up her nervousness. He too felt his hands getting sweaty in anticipation of the moment when everything would start and the smallest mistake would land them all in jail or worse.

  “Be very careful,” Riley said, ignoring her question. “As soon as the lights go out I’m leaving. Wait five minutes and then you and Julie find some excuse and get the hell out of here. Don’t stay a second longer.”


  “Don’t worry, Alex,” she said, touching his chest. “We know what we have to do. It’s you who should be care—”

  Suddenly, all the lights went off, leaving the singer with a word half sung and causing a big groan among the guests.

  “Don’t worry, ladies and gentlemen!” Amilivia called in the darkness. “The fiesta continues!” A few oil lamps started going on around the tables, and the band started to play again.

  Riley took advantage of the darkness to take Carmen’s face in his hands and kiss her passionately.

  “Five minutes,” he reminded her when their lips parted again.

  Without another word he turned and, checking to see no one was watching, disappeared down the stairs.

  19

  A few seconds after Riley left, Carmen heard Zorrilla’s voice behind her. “We need more light,” he said loudly. “I’m going to the cellar for some Petromax and I’ll be right back!”

  Some voices answered in agreement and laughed, asking him to hurry up so they could find the waiters.

  He walked swiftly past Carmen and gave her a meaningful look that said, Good luck.

  His role in the operation was finished, and based on what Hudgens had said during the meeting, he was headed for a nearby beach to wait for a fishing ship that would take him to Cameroon that very night.

  Carmen went back to where Julie was, with the Duchessa sailors. They greeted her with a murmur, having already marked her as a lost cause.

  “Tout va bien?” the Frenchwoman asked anxiously when they were side by side on the balustrade.

  “Everything’s good,” Carmen said, raising her hand to her heart.

  Julie nodded, understanding the signal. Five minutes.

  The electricity being cut and lamps being lit seemed to have reduced the energy of the party. Conversations got quieter and loud laughter turned to murmurs around the tables, immediately giving the party an intimate quality. The soiree was dying, and Carmen was sure it was only a matter of minutes before the first guests started leaving.