With the stern smile she used on bores, Carmen shook her head distractedly when the drunk commander of the Duchessa said something about taking her to Naples to live in a palace like the princess she was.
What absorbed all her attention was the attitude of the Likomba’s captain. He looked at his watch a couple times, and after saying something to his subordinate, stood up and reached for the jacket on the back of his chair.
Zorrilla wasn’t there to hold him back any longer, so nothing was keeping him from leaving a second later, putting everyone in danger.
Carmen made a decision. “Julie,” she said. “Come with me to the powder room a minute?”
Julie seemed surprised by the proposal, since it hadn’t been five minutes yet. But she said, “Of course,” and showed a sly smile to the sailors. “If you’ll excuse us, we have to powder our noses. We’ll be right back.” Then with a bob of the shoulders she stuck her chest out and left them happily awaiting her return.
Julie followed Carmen to the stairs, ready to leave the casino and go back to the Pingarrón according to plan, but Carmen stopped short of descending.
“I’m staying,” she said.
Julie looked at her, confused. “What?” she said with wide eyes.
“The Germans are about to leave.” She waved in the direction of the Likomba officers’ table. “I have to stop them.”
“Then I’m staying too.”
Carmen shook her head.
“You have to go to the ship. You have to leave.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she said very seriously.
Carmen took her arms, trying to convince her. “You have to go back to the ship,” she said. “I can take care of myself here just fine, and I’ll find a way to get back.”
Julie seemed wholly unconvinced. “But you don’t—”
“I’m Carmen Debagh, remember,” she said, pointing at herself with a confident smile. “Don’t you think I can handle a bunch of drunk sailors?”
Julie’s expression was a sea of contradictions, but she didn’t respond this time.
“Go now.” Carmen winked. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
Julie sighed and, after a brief battle with herself, nodded. Then she squeezed Carmen’s hands hard, turned, and left.
Carmen turned toward the Germans. “I’m Carmen Debagh,” she murmured to herself, but it didn’t give her nearly the amount of courage she had hoped.
Still, she held her chin high, straightened her back, and walked steadily toward the officers of the Third Reich.
With Jack at the wheel, the skiff closed in on the Italian merchant ship, which was about a hundred yards from the dock. It was like an imposing steel building rising over the water, rocked by the shy waves splashing against its hull.
Standing on the bow, Riley was still in his impeccable white dinner jacket. He held a lamp in front of him to make sure he could be seen clearly. Despite the noise of the motor and light from the lamp, they reached the side of the Duchessa d’Aosta without any watchmen trying to stop them.
Jack stopped the ship next to the ladder that went down the side and waited a few seconds for someone to show up.
“What do we do?” Jack asked. “Go right up?”
Riley tutted. He had not expected that. “Ahoy!” he shouted, hands around his mouth. “Hellooo!”
Then a head finally appeared above the gunwale.
“Chi va là?!” a sailor asked, also loudly.
“Buonasera!” Riley answered. “We came from the party at the casino.” He pointed toward the shore. “Your captain, Umberto Valle, asked us to bring you something from the party.”
“Qualcosa dalla festa?”
Riley bent down and picked up an oilcloth at his feet, revealing two cases of beer and several bottles of rum.
Even at that distance in the dark, Riley could see the Italian’s eyes widen.
“Should we bring them up?” he asked, holding a bottle up high.
The lookout hesitated. It seemed too out of character for Captain Valle. Maybe it was even some kind of test for the Duchessa officers, to see if they managed the watch correctly. Though there were far less devious methods of doing so if that’s what the captain had wanted.
But on the other hand, those guys all dressed up seemed like they really did just leave the casino. If what they said was true, and the rest of the sailors, now asleep, found out he rejected the gift for no reason, they’d have plenty of reasons to spit in his food for the rest of the journey.
“Va bene!” he finally shouted, motioning toward the ladder. “Usate le scale!”
Riley turned toward his second. His amber eyes had the hard, determined look Jack had seen on similar occasions. “Ready?” he said seriously.
Jack discreetly raised his hand to his holster and turned off the safety on his pistol. “Let’s go,” he said in the same tone.
Riley tied the skiff to the ladder. Each of them took a case of beer and a couple bottles and climbed up the steep steel ladder reaching diagonally up the starboard side of the Duchessa.
When they got to the deck, the sailor was waiting expectantly. Skinny, dark, and wearing a uniform covered in patches, he looked at them with unease.
“Permission to come aboard,” Riley said, leaving the case on the ground.
“Avanti,” the sailor said. “Chi è lei?”
“I’m the captain of the Pingarrón,” he said, motioning toward the darkness. “The party at the casino was pretty boring, and when your commander requested someone bring you refreshments, we volunteered.” He gestured toward Jack, who was now next to him.
“La verità,” he said doubtfully. “Non so se—”
“Where should I put all this?” Jack interrupted with the case in his arms, panting from the effort. “Come on, it’s really heavy.”
The sailor looked around for a hiding place, but soon decided that it would make him seem guilty of something even though he wasn’t, so he pointed upward and said, “Andiamo alla mensa ufficiali,” signaling for them to follow.
They passed through a heavy iron gate, and after climbing various flights of stairs on the deserted superstructure, they arrived at the luxurious officers’ hall. There the lookout indicated for them to leave the cases in one of the corners.
“It’s a wonderful ship,” Riley said, admiring the room. “Isn’t it, Jack?”
“Much more elegant than ours,” Jack said. “Where does it end?”
“As we’re already here . . . ,” Riley addressed the sailor again and gave him a wink. “Might we be able to see a little more? I’d love to go up to the bridge. It must be extraordinary.”
The Italian shook his head. “Scusi, capitano,” he said. “Non è possibile.”
“Just for a moment.”
“Mi dispiace, ma senza il permesso del comandante non è possibile.”
Riley tutted with disappointment, quickly reached back, took out his Colt .45, and pointed it between the eyes of the stupefied sailor.
“I insist.”
20
Carmen walked purposefully to the Germans’ table, ignoring the contemptuous look from Mrs. Lühr, who made a face like someone had left the trash can open.
“Good evening,” Carmen said to the two officers. “I believe we still haven’t met.” She offered her hand. “I’m Carmen Salam.”
“Franz Iwanski,” the mechanic replied, shaking her hand.
“Herbert Spetch,” the Likomba’s captain said with a rigid nod.
“Are you enjoying the party?” Carmen asked, gesturing over the rooftop.
The two sailors nodded slightly without much enthusiasm. They’d both gotten their jackets on and didn’t seem interested in having a conversation.
Carmen couldn’t help but look at the emblem Spetch had on his lapel. A swastika. “The night is young,” she said with a smile. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
“Late,” the captain said in a scratchy voice that sounded like his mouth had stones
in it. “Sleep.”
“But it’s such a wonderful party,” she said. “It would be such a shame if you left.”
“Nothing here for me,” he said, looking with contempt at the miningas.
Carmen ignored the mechanic and took a step toward Spetch. “Maybe you’re wrong,” she whispered.
Carmen couldn’t tell by looking at his light-skinned face if he’d gotten the hint. There didn’t seem to be any emotion in his cold blue eyes.
“Your husband? Where is he?” the German asked, looking around.
A slight shiver ran down Carmen’s spine. That question didn’t seem at all offhand. Did he know or intuit that something was happening that night? Or was it innocent curiosity?
Either way, the best response was what she’d prepared. “We’re not married yet,” she said. Then she muttered bitterly, “He went out partying with his friend, as usual. He doesn’t care if I’m alone. Do you think I should be left alone?” she asked, opening her arms with an air of abandonment. “And now you want to leave too.”
Spetch clenched his jaw as if chewing the words before he spoke. “Leave,” he said finally, taking his hat off the table.
Carmen got even closer, her body nearly touching his.
“Stay,” she whispered, taking his arm. “You won’t regret it.”
Spetch straightened to his full six-foot height and observed her like a zoologist would an exotic animal. There was no sexual desire in that look, and Carmen knew there was nothing she could do to keep him.
Then a commotion behind her made her turn her head just in time to realize that with Julie gone and Carmen herself with the Germans, the group of Italians had lost interest in the party and were saying good-bye to the rest of the guests.
She looked at her watch, afraid.
It was still too early.
With the Colt pressing on the sailor’s back, Riley climbed up the stairs to the bridge, followed closely by Jack, who had his gun drawn beneath his jacket.
“Not even one strange look. Not one word,” Riley warned the Italian. “If you don’t act stupid no one gets hurt, capisci?”
The sailor nodded hard and stood by the gate to the bridge.
“Very good. Now open the door,” Riley ordered. “Then go inside and smile without saying anything.”
The sailor nodded again and put a trembling hand on the door handle. It creaked open.
The two men keeping guard over the bridge controls, one with petty-officer braids, gave him a confused look.
“Ma cosa fai, Fabio?” the officer said to the sailor, bringing the fingers on his right hand together and pointing upward. “Sai che qui non può entrare nessuno. Chi sono queste persone?”
Fabio, aware of the pistol behind his back, just shrugged and smiled foolishly.
Receiving no response, the officer walked across the bridge and stopped in front of Riley, who was still partly obscured by the sailor.
“Lei chi è?” the petty officer spat. “Non può stare qui,” he said, pointing at the open door. “È vietato.”
“I know it’s prohibited,” he responded, pushing the sailor into the officer.
They both nearly fell to the ground, and as soon as the petty officer got his balance, he stared at Riley and pointed at him threateningly. Then he realized Riley and Jack were pointing pistols at him.
“You!” Jack shouted at the other sailor in the bridge. “Come here, fella. Don’t be shy.”
The sailor obeyed and quickly went to stand next to his two friends.
“Chi siete?” the officer asked again. He looked afraid, but he was trying to sound confident. “Cosa volete?”
“Shut it,” Riley ordered, pointing the gun at his face. “Is there someone else on watch?”
“Voi chi siete?” he insisted, raising his voice.
Riley took two steps and hit him with the butt of his pistol without warning, knocking him down.
“I’m only going to ask one more time,” he said through his teeth, threat distilled in every syllable. “Is there someone else on watch?”
The petty officer managed to get up halfway. His forehead oozed blood and stained his impeccable white uniform with an intense red. He ran his hand along his forehead and watched blood run off his hand. “C’è un altro marinaio di guardia,” he said as he stood slowly.
“And where is he?” Riley asked, still aiming at him.
The petty officer smiled a little, showing bloodstained crooked teeth, and fixed his gaze on a point behind Riley and Jack. “Esattamente . . .” he answered triumphantly, lifting his chin, “alle sue spalle.”
The click of a rifle bolt behind him made it clear to Riley what the petty officer was referring to without having to turn.
He slowly turned around, and holding his pistol high, found a huge sailor, with an angry expression on his face, pointing a Mauser at them from the doorway.
“Gettate le armi!” he shouted, gesturing for them to get down and drop their weapons. “Gettate le armi!”
“Shit,” Jack groaned, still aiming at the petty officer. “What do we do?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Riley said.
“If we start shooting,” Jack said, “we could get all four of them.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s not worth the risk.” And moving extremely slowly, he bent down and left the Colt at his feet. “Follow me.”
Jack didn’t stop aiming at the man in front of him. “Shit,” he grunted. “I don’t know, Alex.”
“I do. Put your gun on the ground, Jack.”
But he didn’t move.
“Do it. Fuck,” he urged harshly.
After a few more seconds of hesitation, Jack laid the gun down and placed his hands on his head.
“We give up,” Riley announced.
He was relieved to see that the sailor with the gun relaxed a little and took his finger off the trigger.
“This would be a good time,” Riley said loudly, gazing up at the ceiling.
Jack looked at him, confused, and peered at the same spot. “Who the hell are you talking to?”
The petty officer bent down to get Riley’s gun off the ground, but at the last minute, Riley stepped on it as if he didn’t mean to.
“Cosa stai facendo?” the Italian asked with irritation, still bent down.
“It’s for today, fuck!” Riley yelled.
And just when the sailor by the door raised the Mauser again, a huge hunting knife appeared below his jaw. Then the black-painted face of Marco Marovic, showing all his teeth in an unsettling smile, was above his left shoulder.
The touch of the cold steel on the sailor’s throat soon convinced him that putting down the weapon would be best for his health.
A second later Commander Hudgens also appeared in the doorway. He was wielding a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber, and, like Marco, had his face painted black and was dressed in black from head to toe.
Riley and Jack put their hands down and got their weapons, holding the four sailors at gunpoint.
“You saw them, right?” Jack asked. “That’s why you shouted.”
Riley nodded and winked, then faced the others. “What the hell took you so long?”
“If you think it’s easy to board a ship shimmying along a fifty-foot steel cable,” Hudgens said, taking a roll of tape out of his small backpack, “you try it next time.”
Carmen stared at Spetch with her big black eyes. “Wait for me here,” she said, and before the man could reply, she headed toward the stage, where the band was still playing in the lamplight.
Carmen climbed on the small platform and whispered something in the singer’s ear. He stopped singing and gestured to the band so they would stop playing.
The sudden break in the music got the attention of all the guests, including the sailors already on their way out, who looked at Carmen on the stage, her airy chiffon dress fluttering in the evening breeze.
This wouldn’t be her first time, but it would be the most important. Whether or not she co
uld keep their attention could mean not only success or failure for the mission, but life or death for those she loved.
The room became wrapped in expectant silence, and if it weren’t for the dim light of the petroleum lamps reflecting on her audience’s faces, Carmen might have believed she was alone.
For a moment she thought she would introduce herself and explain what she planned on doing. But then she decided it would be redundant. They all knew who she was by then and they’d find out what she was going to do momentarily.
Carmen glanced out of the corner of her eye at the bay, which was fully shrouded in darkness, and for an instant imagined they’d forget about her and run, abandoning her.
But she quickly rid herself of that dismal thought and decided to do what she must. Carmen breathed deeply, turned to the musicians, and gave them a nod.
The first notes of “Tatuaje” sounded languidly from the accordion, and Carmen started to sing in a grave and melancholy voice.
El vino en un barco, de nombre extranjero.
Lo encontré en el puerto, un anochecer
Cuando el blanco faro sobre los veleros
Su beso de plata dejaba caer
Era hermoso de ojos color de melaza
El pecho tatuado con un corazón
En su voz amarga había la tristeza
Doliente y cansada del acordeón
Y entre dos copas de aguardiente
Sobre el manchado mostrador
Él fue contándome entre dientes
La vieja historia de su amor
21
They quickly went down the metal stairs, not worrying about the sound of their boots pounding the steps. There was no time to think, and regardless, the thirty-or-so crew members on the ship would be sleeping deeply by then.
At the bottom of the stairs they found a long dark hallway with doors to cabins on either side and a small zero, painted in black on the white wall.
Hudgens took out the sheet on which he had drawn an outline of the Duchessa d’Aosta and looked at it with a small flashlight.
“We’re on Deck Zero,” he said, pointing at the middle of the sketched ship. “We have to get to Deck Minus Two on the bow.” The glow from the flashlight ran along the drawing toward the front of the ship. “That’s where Hold Seven is.”
Darkness: Captain Riley II (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 2) Page 15