by S. D. BROWN
"I was doing just fine, without your help." J.T. brushed himself off. "My dad and grandfather are locked in the next room. I'm not leaving without them. Do you have more explosives?"
"I do, two. But I don't think we should use it. Not after what it did to the bathroom door. You’re lucky you weren't seriously hurt."
"That's because I had the door off the hinges."
"You are resourceful." I meant it. "You'd better warn them."
J.T. knocked on the other door. "Dad? Gramps?"
"We heard. We're moving away from the door." Dad said.
"You okay?" Gramps said.
"Ready?" I asked.
J.T. nodded.
"Okay. Move back and look away. We have thirty seconds." I pulled out a dab of chewing gum and adhered it to the door. Next I plucked a second donkey from my charm bracelet and pressed the little charm into the gum.
For his benefit, I counted aloud. "Thirty, twenty-nine . . . one."
Boom!
An encore performance, but instead of flying into the room this door twisted and was left hanging at a rakish angle from the door jam.
J.T. raced inside. I was right behind him. I stopped mid rush. Stared with my mouth open. My eyes almost escaped their sockets in disbelief.
"Max," I said. "What are you doing here?"
"Meet my grandfather," J.T. said. "And this is my dad, James."
I already knew his identity. He looked even worse than he had on camera. I felt horrible. His face was bruised and stained with dried blood and he cradled an injured hand.
Quickly I scanned the room, located the mini webcam and smashed it. Let Uncle Monte be too preoccupied to discover the monitor had ceased to work. And if he did, let him assume the thunderstorm had disabled it.
Only then did I turn to Max.
He looked okay, just a little tired. I went to my old friend and gave him a hug.
He let out a soul rending, "OOOOooooooooo."
"You're hurt!" I cried. That's when I realized his foot lay at a strange angle.
"Gramps, I thought you said it was just a sprain." J.T. said to the man I'd known as Max. This was more than a little disconcerting. But there wasn't time to process this new development.
"I'm fine. Let's just get out of here," Max said and struggled to stand. "I'm a tough old bird."
I checked the time. I needed to get moving. "J.T., do you know first aid? Can you splint his ankle? I have to set the red light upstairs."
Max chuckled, "So Harry is still using the old the beacon shines red at midnight signal. That's good news."
J.T. had a strange look on his face. He stared at Max like he was seeing his grandfather for the first time. "Gramps, are you a spy, like Dad?"
"No. He's a spy like me."
"And it appears you've inherited the family's genetic code," I said. "But we've got to get moving. It's almost twelve o'clock."
I scooted up the stairs to the light. It was blinding up close and I tripped on a coil of rope someone had carelessly left on the floor. Wished I still had my shades. Squinting, I set the red filter into the prepared slot in front of the lens. Instantly a beacon of red shot from the lighthouse. Its blood-red hue the same as a laser pinpoint marking a marksman's target.
Bathed in the surrealistic red glow I slipped off my necklace, slid off the pyramid pendant tracker and set it on the floor. Hopefully Santana, Harry and company would think I was admiring the view while we made our escape.
Which would be difficult considering the injuries to the two men. With luck they could tough it out, I told myself. At least until we got to the boat. They're professionals. Like me. Or was I?
According to Uncle Monte this was my first assignment.
No time to think about it. I hurried back to the stairs and tripped on the rope a second time. I caught my balance and reached down to move it out of the way. Maybe it was the tactile sensation or maybe I really was a spy trained to turn hazards into opportunity.
I gathered up the rope and slung its coils over my shoulder. To my surprise, it was pretty heavy. I lugged it down to the next level. The three prisoners had already begun their descent. J.T. in the lead. Max went second, leaning heavily on the staircase banister to keep the weight off his foot. Mr. Chapman inched along behind them. From his heavy breathing and the way he moved, it was obvious he was in a great deal of pain.
I skirted both men and caught up with J.T.
"Where'd you get the rope?" he asked.
I pointed up. "There are two guards at the bottom with machine guns. I don't think they'll just let us walk out, but I have a plan." I quickly went over it with him. "Do you think it'll work?"
"It has, too," he said.
"You did say you liked to climb, didn't you?"
26: J.T.
But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.
Proverbs 4:18
Isla Contoy
Mexican Caribbean
"Let me take the rope," I said, sounding all macho like. I couldn't let Rena carry it when it was obvious it was too heavy for her. She was dragging it behind her and I was afraid Gramps would trip on it.
"I've got it. I'm not helpless," she said, but seemed glad to let me take it.
"I know you're not, but I need to figure out how long it is without unwinding it. Let me count." Each coil used about ten feet. There were eleven coils, which made for easy math.
I looked out one of the little windows in the wall. We were still pretty high above the tops of the palm trees. We had to go lower, but how far? It was one thing to count coils on a rope to gauge its length. It was another to guess if we were low enough in the lighthouse for the rope to reach the ground.
"Time for silent mode," Rena said and motioned for us to keep close to the outside wall.
We crept down the spiral staircase, pretty much one step at a time. Gramps and Dad seemed to be running out of energy. At least we didn’t have to climb up. I don't think either of them could have made it.
Rena stopped at one of the little windows. "I think this is low enough and on the opposite side of the entrance where the guards are stationed."
I set the rope onto the floor and helped Dad and Gramps to settle on the stairs a half turn up the spiral. At least for this part of our great escape they'd have some time to rest and hopefully recoup some energy.
Grabbing one end of the rope, I tied it onto the heavy metal railing. I pulled on it hard, testing the knot's strength.
"Ready?" she asked.
I nodded.
A huge bright light streaked the night. I counted until the thunder blast sounded. One second equaled one mile. Good. The storm was five miles away.
She spit out her last bit of the gum and stuck it on the window ledge. Ripping a charm from her bracelet, she shoved it into the gum and pushed me up the stairs.
The third explosion shook the steps like a mini earthquake.
"Hurry," she said. "Hopefully the hole's big enough."
We rushed down to it. The little window had been replaced with a ragged hole the size of five basketball hoops welded together. Concrete rubble littered the floor. Dust coated the rope.
Rena helped me sling the rope out the gaping hole in the wall. I looked down. The inch-thick corded hemp didn't quite reach the ground, but it was close enough.
I climbed into the opening feet first, sat and flipped onto my stomach. Gripping the rope tight in both hands, I wriggled backwards. Rough concrete dug into my elbows as I inched out into the night. As soon as I was outside, I used my feet to wrap the rope into a kind of gravity brake. It worked. My legs would take the brunt of the pressure.
It was raining again.
Slowly I began to descend.
Lowered myself hand-over-hand.
Gripped the rope super tight.
Let my feet slide down the rope and re-wrap tight.
Relax.
Repeat.
Another thunder burst crackled. Again I counted o
ff the miles. Seven. That was good. It meant the storm moved fast and away from us.
When I reached halfway, I knew Rena, Gramps and Dad should have started moving again. Finishing their descent to the bottom where they'd wait inside for my signal.
The muscles in my arms began to burn. If I'd had decent climbing gear, I could have repelled down in minutes. Instead it seemed like it was taking forever.
The wet rope slid blisters into my palms like giant slivers of pain. My feet felt like rubber. My legs like lead. Repeated the same moves over and over.
Lowering myself hand-over-hand.
Grip the rope super tight.
Let my feet slide down the rope and . . . no more rope. My feet churned empty air. I looked down and grinned. Just a few feet to the ground. I let go and landed standing. It didn't hurt, but my feet were numb. I started wiggling my toes and set off a tsunami of pins-and-needles racing up my legs.
Hopefully Dad and Gramps made it down without a hitch. I had no idea how much time had passed, but if they were still on the staircase and I started my diversion too soon, it would ruin everything.
I moved into a thick patch of jungle plants and waited. I counted to five hundred. Hesitated. Counted to a thousand. It was now or never.
Keeping to the shadows, I crept around to the other side of the lighthouse. I could see only one guard. Where was the other one? I needed to know so I continue to edge around the perimeter of the buildings. Light blazed from every window and I heard a lot of voices inside. Men talking. Laughing.
I peeked in. There were about thirty men. Some were packing Ziplock bags of what looked like pills into cardboard boxes. Some were taping the boxes shut. Others were stacking them by the door.
Harry came into the room. "The buyer will be here in five minutes. Get these boxes out to the north beach. Make sure you're armed."
I backed away from the window. This was great. The lighthouse entrance faced the south beach. And if the majority of the guards would be on the north beach in five minutes, then in five minutes I'd make my move.
I started counting again. This time in seconds.
It wasn't long before I heard the roar of large watercraft.
Time to rock and roll.
I picked up a huge rock, lobbed it at the lighthouse and scuttled right. The rock hit about ten feet from where the guard leaned up against the door. He jumped to attention, shouldered his gun and pointed it to where I'd been standing only moments earlier. Semi-crouching, he moved forward commando style. The barrel of his gun scanned left and right.
Somehow my plan didn't seem as cool proof as it had in the tower. But a plan was a plan and I had to go with it.
The guard passed a few feet from where I hid. I picked up a huge coconut, edged up behind him and whacked him on the head. He dropped to his knees. The gun slipped onto the sand. I grabbed it and flung it into the ocean.
Scuttling backwards, I dragged him back to the lighthouse as fast I could. I had to get him inside before the other guard saw us.
The door flung open. Rena flew out followed by Dad, helping Gramps walk. I shoved the stunned guard inside. Slammed the door. I got under Gramps' other arm and we headed toward the south beach.
"Quick," I said. "You guys head for the boat."
"We should stay together," Rena said.
"I'll be right behind you after I tie up and gag this guy."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." I opened the door and scanned the shadows. "For now, all of Santana's men are on the north shore. But for how long? Go. Get Gramps and Dad to the boat."
"Okay," she said, but I could tell she didn't like leaving without me.
Dad got under one of Gramps' shoulders and Rena under the other and they headed out.
The guard on the floor moaned.
Nooooo. He couldn't wake up. Not yet.
The man's eyes blinked, but they didn't focus. More like they were glazed over and he was having a dream. My guess is that it was a bad one, because he whimpered, "Please, not my toes."
Quickly I stripped off his uniform, but left on his underwear and boots. I flipped him onto his stomach, pulled his arms to the center of his back and wrapped the belt around his wrists in a tight knot like I was bull dogging in a rodeo. Flipped him again and force buckled the belt around his middle. There was no way he was getting free unless he had help.
To make sure he didn't, I tied a series of square knots into his shoelaces. And to make sure he didn’t yell out for help, I tore off my wet T-shirt and ripped two wide strips. Shoved one in his mouth. Tied it in place with the other.
I pulled on his uniform over my shorts and headed for the boat. Hopefully if anyone spotted me, they'd take me for one of the bad guys.
Dad and Gramps were in the boat when I got there. Neither looked good. Rena was in the water, trying to push the boat off the sand.
"Get in," I said, shoving on the bow. "I've got this."
Rena scrambled over the side and in seconds I had it floating like a rubber ducky. We were too close to the shore to start the engine. I kept pushing the boat out to sea. It was nearly up to my waist.
Suddenly there was a WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP overhead. A black helicopter zoomed in low.
"Get down!" I shouted and crouched until the salty water lapped my ears.
The helicopter personnel carrier with duel props, hovered and slowly began to descend onto the beach with menacing precision. The giant duel rotor blades whipped up a sand storm. The engines shut down. The whirly blades slowed and stopped. Silence.
Don't let them see us.
The passenger door opened and a man leaped onto the sand. From my position in the water, it was easy to see his face in a patch of moonlight.
I couldn't believe it. Customs agent Officer Gomez, also-known-as traffic policeman Sgt. Perez, aka Raul's corrupt uncle, aka whatever name he used as a drug dealer. This was not good. He had to be working for Santana. Why else was he here? Unless he was the buyer Harry mentioned. If he was, he'd landed on the wrong beach.
A shadow army of men dressed in black combat gear poured from the aircraft like a stream of scorpions. Raul's uncle barked orders and they disappeared as quickly as they'd appeared.
We had to get out of there.
From the north beach, gunshots rang out like World War Three had started.
I swung the bow around, hoisted myself into the boat and throttled up the engine.
My grandfather slumped unconscious on the hull. Dad pressed the fingers of his good hand against Gramps' neck.
"Is he?" Rena said fearfully, dropping to Gramps' side and took his hand in hers. Tears welled in her eyes.
"He's alive," Dad said. "But his pulse is thready. He needs immediate medical attention. "
This couldn't be happening. The escape plan worked. If Gramps died, it wouldn't be fair. God, don't let him die.
"Rena," I said, pushing down hard on the throttle. In spite of the fact we were surrounded by water, my mouth felt like all the moisture had been sucked out with a shop vac. My next words came out sounding like I was an old dried up man. "Get on the radio. Tell them we need an ambulance waiting for us when we dock. And also tell them what's going down on the island."
27: Serena
In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
Winston Churchill
Isla Contoy
Mexican Caribbean
I'd had no trouble contacting shore. The radio dispatcher assured me an ambulance would be waiting as soon as we arrived in Puerto Juarez. As to the alleged criminal activities taking place on the island, he would pass that information on to the appropriate authorities.
The boat skimmed the water like we flew on the wings of Anemoi, the Aztec god of wind. At least the thunderstorm had blown south and the rain had abated.
Max didn't look so good in the moon's light. His face had taken on an unsettling hue of silvery gray. He needed oxygen. Soon.
J.T.'s father's countenance w
as piqued as well. Bruises covered his face along with black streaks of dried blood in the moonlight. I crossed my fingers. Don't let him collapse before we reach shore. What kind of torture had Santana and Harry subjected them to? I hated that I'd played a part in the treachery.
Max's eyes fluttered open. He tried to smile. "Serena, I hope you've been eating to keep your energy at its best. You need fuel to keep going."
"I am," I said and realized I'd hardly eaten in the last two days.
"Sugar is the key. It'll keep your system up," he rasped out and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
What did Max know about my failing battery system? "Mr. Chapman, do you know what Max referred to?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Do you know what Max knows about my system?"
"I'm sorry, my father's delirious." He squeezed his temples between the thumb and forefinger of his good hand. I could only imagine the unmitigated war raging in his skull.
What would happen to me now that I was no longer allied with Uncle Monte?
J.T. kept the boat on course. In a forty-five minute eternity we navigated the distance between Isla Contoy and Puerto Juarez and motored up to Juan's Deep Sea Fishing dock.
The flashing lights of ambulances awaited our arrival.
In no time at all, Max and J.T.'s father were strapped on stretchers and stowed in the ambulance.
"You're father insists on seeing you before they're transported," a medic said to J.T. "Make it quick."
J.T. hopped into the ambulance with the medic.
I waited on the dock, worrying about Max and wondering what kind of medical facilities they had in Mexico. My old friend had looked close to death when we'd arrived. I bit back a sob. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
The ambulance driver handed me a bag of Werthers Original lollies. "The old man asked me to give this to you. Hope you like them. It's all I had."
"Thanks." That was so Max. Thinking of my welfare instead of his own injuries.
J.T. jumped out the back of the medical emergency vehicle.
"Come on, Rena, we've got to go," J.T. grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the parking lot where we'd left the car.