Titan Trilogy 3.5-Black Soul

by T. J. Brearton

  From there he did breaststroke, keeping his head above water and his eyes on the shore. There were a few lawn chairs on the beach. More good signs. He didn’t know anything about Paya Bay Resort. In the moonlight he saw bungalows along the jetty. There would be people, more amenities. Maybe medical facilities.

  He touched his feet down in the water and waded the rest of the way onto the shore. His backpack was still in his bungalow, so if anyone wanted to see his passport or ID they were out of luck. He considered sticking to the Samaritan’s Purse missionary cover and dismissed the idea. There was no reason to dance around what was happening any longer.

  A trail led up from the beach through the jungle. He opted for the trail rather than the bungalows and followed the din of music and voices deeper into the resort.

  He moved along quietly until he saw a sign that read Iguana Bar with a crude arrow pointing the way. Then a short trail led down to another bay, where a huge Palapa Bar, festooned with lights, was crowded with people drinking and laughing and dancing. A live band performed Caribbean music, banging on calypso drums. The air smelled like kerosene torches, suntan lotion, and fruity cocktails.

  Beyond the party, bobbing in the water, were a dozen small boats.

  William drifted among the guests, his clothes soaking, but no one seemed to notice. He sought out someone who would be willing to help. They were mostly an older crowd; blissful retirees arcing their hips to the music. A gray-haired woman in a long skirt and several beaded necklaces danced with her eyes closed, hands over her head.

  The space was huge, and he was surprised he hadn’t heard more of the commotion from out in the water, but the jetty and the jungle had blocked most of the sound. This little bay was like a hidden paradise. And the guests knew it.

  He saw a man standing by himself, leaning against a wooden beam beneath a canopied part of the deck. The man had a bottle of beer and was tapping his foot disinterestedly. He looked around forty, dressed in shorts and a crisp white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

  “I need your help,” William said to the man.

  He looked William up and down. “Sorry?”

  They had to shout over the music.

  “I need your help. There are three women back towards Camp Beach. They were kidnapped.”

  There was a loud splash as someone cannonballed into the pool.

  “I need you to take one of those rowboats with me. Go pick them up, get them back here.”

  The man only stared for a moment longer, then walked away. William watched as he drifted towards the bar. There were three bartenders, all busy working the crowd. William searched for another candidate. He could return for the women by himself, but he was tired. He didn’t know how much he had left.

  He paused and considered finding a phone and trying to reach Hanna back at the resort. But those three young women were waiting for him, and they weren’t safe where they were. He went after the same man, pushing through the tourists until he found him again, waiting to talk to a bartender. William leaned into his ear. “I’m American. I’m here looking for a missing girl. I found—”

  The man spun around. “Get away from me.”

  William persisted, “Please.”

  The man pushed William back. Some of the other partygoers noticed, and moved away. The band changed song, and started banging on the bongo drums.

  A large man in a tank top, built like a heavyweight boxer, drifted near, looking like a bouncer. William made his way closer and the giant man scowled down at him as he approached. “I need help,” William said. He repeated the request to the bouncer.

  “Hold on,” the bouncer said and spoke to the bartender, who nodded. For a moment, William was sure they were going to take him, tie him up, and send him to the mainland. But the bouncer returned. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll take one of the motorboats.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The small motorboat skimmed over the water, engine purring. William scanned the shoreline for the women.

  He urged the bouncer, named Julio, to steer the boat closer. Julio warned that the reef was near the surface in places and the outboard motor could strike the hard coral.

  They opted to kill the motor and tip it out of the water and they rowed the rest of the way.

  With the engine quieted, the jungle sang with life. Animals called from within the thick tangles.

  William couldn’t locate the women.

  He jumped out, knee-deep in the shoals, and walked to the shoreline. He called their names, wading back towards the point.

  At last one of them answered. Julio turned the boat around and drew near as William forced his way through the thicket and found them at last.

  Emma’s eyes shined in the gloom — she looked scared, but lucid, gripping the gun tightly. Nicole was still awake, shivering, her color poor. Funi didn’t look much better. But they were okay. William took the gun and phone and stuck them back in his shorts.

  Emma and Funi waded out to the boat, William cradled Nicole in his arms and followed. As he was loading her in, he heard a noise come from the direction of the cabin. It sounded like a motorcycle. Then the engine died.

  “Go,” he said to Julio. “Go, go, go.”

  Julio pushed off with an oar as William climbed in. When Julio started to lower the engine, William stopped him. “Not until we’re back around the point.”

  Julio didn’t argue, but cast his gaze over William’s shoulder at the cabin.

  The men grabbed up the oars and began to paddle while the women huddled together in the middle of the small boat.

  William risked a look back at the beach. Just as he did, there was a flash of light. A second later, something splashed in the water. More bursts of light, more splashes — something cut through the air — vvvip — and struck the water just beside the hull. Trying to be stealthy hadn’t helped them.

  “Drop the motor!”

  Julio clambered to the back, dipped the propeller back into the water and ignited the engine.

  The shooter on the beach opened fire again, a series of flashes in the night. William grabbed Julio and yanked him and then the girls down. The water burst all around them. A bullet glanced off the boat with a loud metallic ping!

  The outboard motor was running but the throttle wasn’t engaged. William shimmied over to the driver seat. He grabbed the lever and the boat shot forward. Their angle was bad — the motor wasn’t straight. The boat veered back towards land, about to collide with the point.

  The vessel leapt out of the water for a moment as the bottom hit coral. Metal screeched as they slid across, and the boat bucked. Their momentum carried them across and they sunk back into the water and around the tip of the point as the bullets continued to fly.

  The last shot struck the motor in a bright burst of sparks, and the engine quit.

  They drifted in silence again, only a few yards from the shore. They had the point covering them, but they were too close to land.

  William heard snapping and cracking as someone unseen pursued them through the jungle.

  Fuck.

  He popped up and grabbed an oar. Julio followed a moment later and they got paddling again, putting some distance between themselves and the dark, tangled shoreline.

  They paddled out further into the bay, keeping the point between themselves and the beach. The resort seemed far away, the music and party muffled through the trees.

  William nodded at the radio clipped to Julio’s belt. “Call someone. We’re going to need more help.”

  Julio was breathing heavy from the exertion. “There’s only one other.”

  “One other security guard? For the whole place? Call him. Get him in a boat. Have him meet us.”

  Julio continued to paddle, considering it. He dropped the oar and snatched up his radio. He made the distress call then resumed paddling. Any second now, the pursuer closing in was going to open fire from the shore. They were sitting ducks. The relative safety of the resort was ten minutes aw
ay at the rate they were going.

  The radio crackled with a response. Julio got on it again and barked orders in Spanish while William kept paddling.

  The one-sided strokes pushed them into the open ocean and he twisted the paddle to right their course. Julio joined him again but by now William was burning with fatigue. The moonlight flickered over the waves.

  “They’re coming,” Julio said.

  They paddled furiously for the resort.

  * * *

  The light beamed across the water as a larger motorboat neared. William heard splashes in the water at the edge of the jungle and braced for more gunfire, but nothing happened. He decided it must have been an animal.

  He couldn’t know for sure, but now that the commotion was passed he thought there had been a single shooter at the beach. The shots had emanated from one source. More important, the gunfire had been muffled, as if by a sound-suppressor.

  The kind a professional used.

  Julio and William hoisted the women aboard the other boat. The six of them headed back to the cove, towing the smaller boat.

  “He may come into the resort,” William said to Julio over the roar of the engine.

  Julio spoke into the boat driver’s ear. Within a minute they docked a distance from the rollicking party and stepped onto dry land again. They helped the women ashore and skirted the edges of the beach party, making their way deeper into the resort.

  They settled into the spa facilities on the far side of the peninsula. With the door closed, the music was almost drowned out completely. There was a small bean-shaped pool, two hot tubs, saunas and massage parlors in the back. William saw a sign hanging on the wall that said: Feel Good. Be Happy.

  He was checking over the young woman for injuries when the door opened and a well-tanned woman of about forty came in, her eyes wide with concern. She was dressed casual and looked like she’d been at the bar. There was a cloud of citrusy booze around her. “I’m Corina. I’m the co-director of Paya Bay.”

  William explained the situation to her using a measure of discretion, but didn’t sugarcoat the danger they could be in. “The shooter from Camp Beach could be on his way.”

  She seemed dumbfounded. “Camp Beach? Right up the shore?”

  “That’s right.” He was beginning to feel surreal. His meal with Hanna and Arnold Sterling seemed like a long time ago. The last moment things had been at least somewhat normal, somewhat under control.

  The young women were wrapped in large white spa towels, sitting by the edge of the pool in the middle of the glassed-in main room.

  “Let’s get them away from the windows,” William said. Corina helped get them up and led them to the more secluded rooms in the back. She seemed to be realizing the implications — these women had been liberated from some type of captivity.

  William grabbed Julio, nearby. The other security guard had momentarily disappeared. “Can you get them water? Something to eat?”

  “Eduardo is doing that right now,” Julio said.

  For a moment, William felt something threaten to break loose inside of him. Something that, if he allowed it full expression, could be his undoing. These people — Julio, Corina, and Eduardo, ready to help, sensing what needed to be done — it was highly needed. It stirred William’s emotions and he took a moment to breathe through it.

  Julio put his arm on William’s shoulder. “What do you need?”

  “I need to call someone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  He kept his eyes on the jungle through the windows while the line rang. An answering machine told him that Royal Playa was closed for the day. The machine listed his options — he could leave his name and number, he could be connected to housekeeping and maintenance, or he could dial a guest’s extension.

  The bungalow where he’d left Hanna and the family was number four. He pressed the button and the line rang again. A wary-sounding man answered.

  “Hello?”

  “This is William Chase, looking for Hanna Beckett. I left her with you.”

  “Are the police coming?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “People here are hurt. The Rhinegold’s bungalow has no power. The woman, Elena, she tripped and she’s bleeding from her leg.”

  “We’re trying to help you. I just need to speak to Hanna.”

  “She left.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “She was trying to . . .” The man spoke to someone else. “What?” William heard a woman talking in the background, then the man came back over the line. “My wife says she went to find some medical stuff. We think there’s a housekeeper cabin and they keep Bactine there. Elena’s afraid, you know, some tropical bacteria gets into her wound and—”

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “I’m Thomas Marcotti.”

  “Mr. Marcotti, listen. You’re friends with Arnold Sterling?”

  “Yes. Where is he? He with you?”

  “He’s not.” William closed his eyes for a moment, a headache building behind his eyes. “Do you know who David Sausa is?”

  Silence. Then, “He’s Arnold’s friend. Arnold and I both work for Provost. David Sausa, I don’t know what he does. They have some business together. Sterling invited us down here for the planned wreck tomorrow. What the hell is going on?”

  “Mr. Marcotti, best thing you can do is stay calm.”

  “Calm? Who are you? My family is—”

  “Have you seen anyone else there? Anyone outside? Since the shooting?”

  “No. No, I haven’t seen anyone. We want to get out of here. We need one of the water taxis — we want to leave. The police aren’t coming? I heard about this. Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Sterling said everything was fine . . .”

  William hung up. It was impulsive, not the best move, but he couldn’t listen anymore. Not right now. He redialed the number and waited for the list of options again. He opted for housekeeping and prayed as the extension rang. Probably the timing was off. She could be anywhere, trying to help that woman or—

  “Hello?” Hanna’s voice was distant, but she was there.

  William’s chest jerked with an unexpected sob. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “You’re alright.”

  “I’ve had better days. Last time I take your advice on where we’re going to vacation.”

  “How are you? How are things there?”

  “I’ve been sticking with Marcotti and his family. He doesn’t seem to like me much, but the kids do.”

  The humor faded from her voice and she said, “Will, I checked — Sterling’s body is gone. Looks like it was dragged off into the jungle.”

  * * *

  He called Mateo’s cell phone next. Mateo was on his way.

  Julio talked with Corina by the pool. Eduardo returned with the supplies. He dropped a bottle of water with William who gulped half of it down in one go.

  When Eduardo took the food to the women in the back rooms, Julio wandered over. “I know we just met, but you don’t look so good,” he said. “You want something stronger than water?”

  William considered it. If there was any excuse to fall off the wagon, this was it. He’d already smoked with Hosea. Then he’d taken the Ativan. It had been two hours, and the drug had just cooled him off enough to get through, but he could use another one of those, too.

  Before William could answer, Eduardo came hustling from the back rooms, eyes wide, speaking urgently in Spanish. Corina hurried after him.

  “Bleeding,” Julio explained to William. “One of the women is bleeding.”

  William followed Corina into the steam room.

  Funi was lying on her side, her white spa towel dark with blood. The two other women looked panicked.

  “What happened?” William said, rushing toward Funi. Corina stuck out her arm, blocking him. He didn’t understand why until he saw that the blood was mainly between Funi’s legs.

  William had medical knowledge, but not quite gynecology. Corina bent dow
n beside Funi, barely conscious, her face slack, eyes shining. “Honey?”

  “It hurts,” Funi said.

  Corina looked over her shoulder. “Give us a moment?”

  It hardly was the time for modesty, but Corina seemed poised with experience. William stepped out.

  He stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, listening to the murmuring of their voices.

  * * *

  Corina came out of the room and they walked back to the pool area where Julio was waiting.

  “She’s lost a bit of blood,” Corina told them. “She needs a hospital.”

  William shook his head. “There’s a problem with that. One of the women, Nicole, has already been. They came and took her. They’ll be watching.”

  “Well, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve been an EMT. She’s lost enough blood to be very sick. She needs a transfusion.”

  He remembered how she was so silent when he’d first found her, just sitting in the shabby cabin, her face a blank. He should have examined her more thoroughly. Done something. “She wasn’t bleeding before. I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . .”

  “She’s been bleeding on and off, she says. I think she has internal wounds which were aggravated . . . the running, the boat . . .” Corina glanced away, then resumed speaking a low voice. “She says she had an abortion performed a few months ago. And she’s been raped multiple times.”

  Julio muttered a prayer in Spanish and shook his head.

  William stared at his two hosts. “You have weapons here?”

  They traded looks. Julio acted like he didn’t want to speak on Corina’s behalf. Corina seemed to think it over and she nodded. “We do. In a safe in my bungalow.”

  “Good.” William pulled the pistol from his waistband and set it on the desk. “There are only two rounds left.” Corina stared down it like it was a live snake. “You should go get yours,” he said.

  “I have some calls to make first, Mr. Chase.” She walked away.

  “Wait . . .”

  She stopped at the door and turned. He could tell she was already reluctant to accept what he was about to say.

  “I have reason to believe a man here, David Sausa, along with others, has built a kind of private military. I don’t know how many men. Could be ten, twenty, could be more. We’re talking about very bad guys. I’m thinking at least a few of them are from Calle Eighteen, one of the mainland gangs.” William pointed to the steam rooms. “Those women are part of their payment. To use, to sell, whatever.”