"I'll go down in a minute." Chavo and Frank caught their breath and watched the shore lights wink out as the barge moved away from land.
Finally they left Brady and climbed down the ladder into the ship's hold. Frank followed after Chavo and noticed that as soon as he had passed, Brady flashed a signal to Chrome Lasker, who was standing in the control tower. The barge lurched forward and began chugging out of the harbor. Brady followed Frank into the hold.
As Frank's feet hit the floor, a pair of hands grabbed him, yanking him off his feet. Everest had hold of him, and then red-haired Brady reached the floor and helped. The two of them pinned Frank against a wall.
Catching his breath, Frank saw that Chavo was similarly held. There were several crates in the hold, and two of them were pushed together at the center of the room to form a makeshift table.
At the table was Jolly.
Jolly sat next to a radio that was glowing softly and ran the blade of a knife through a candle flame. "Welcome," came the Director's voice from the radio. "Chavo, you are a disappointment to me. I trusted you. "My friends inside the government have informed me that you are a Federale. Tell me what you've told them about my plans.
"No," Chavo said.
"We could torture you," the voice from the radio continued. "But you might not crack. Instead, let's torture your young friend. Perhaps you'll talk to spare him pain."
"Only one way to find out," Jolly suggested. He stood up, holding out a red-hot blade. Brady tore Frank's shirt open.
As Frank struggled uselessly, Jolly moved the blade closer and closer to his chest.
Chapter 11
How LONG had he paddled? Joe wondered. It seemed to him that he had been floating for hours. He could no longer tell time. His watch had been smashed in the wreck, and overhead the timeless moon just hung there, not moving. He was far from land now, and the ocean, dark and unchanging, spread out in all directions.
With nothing else to do, Joe thought back to the collision. He remembered grabbing Charity as the impact hurled him from the boat. The next thing he knew, he was struggling against the cold, churning waters of San Diego Bay. With a burst of energy he had sputtered to the surface, gasping for air.
Pulling himself onto a large piece of floating fiberglass, he looked for Charity. But she was nowhere to be seen.
In the distance Joe spotted the cabin cruiser, speeding southwest across the Pacific. Even with the mist on the ocean, the moon was bright enough to show Joe the men on the cruiser's deck, laughing and pointing back at the wreckage. But before he could wonder if the men had spotted him, something else caught his eye. It was dragging behind the cruiser, hanging off one of the ropes that had once towed a rubber raft. It was flat and shiny, like a piece of glass, and in its center was a dark woman-shaped mass.
Charity!
After his strength had finally returned, he flattened himself on the fiberglass and started to paddle with his hands and feet, like a surfer swimming out to meet a wave. He was going to Puerto de Oro, the Port of Gold, no matter how long it took.
He had a brother to avenge.
Joe didn't know where he was. All around him was nothing but empty ocean. He felt sure that somewhere ahead must be the island of Puerto de Oro, but there were no lights, no sounds, only the silent darkness of the ocean on a moonlit night.
Then small waves beat against the fiberglass, moving against the waves of the ocean. Joe looked around.
A boat was moving toward him, pushing the water before it. A fishing barge.
"Hey!" Joe yelled as the barge neared. Forgetting how tired he was, he paddled toward the boat. "Hey!"
His voice was lost under the sound of the engine. The barge plunged on with no sign of stopping. He waved, trying to get the attention of the two men who had wandered onto the deck. No one noticed him.
He pressed on, pushed back by a wake that grew stronger the nearer he got to the barge. The boat was so close he could smell the stench of fish that it gave off. There was no longer anyone on the deck, but he kept moving.
Water splashed into his face, almost knocking him off the fiberglass hunk, and he flailed to get a grip on it. His hands caught it, and he pulled himself back up.
The barge was right in front of him, moving in a straight line for him.
On the side of the barge, sticking out at right angles to it, was a series of iron bars leading down to the propeller that drove the boat. They were there so fishermen could climb down to the propeller for repairs, Joe realized. But he had another use for them. As another wave rushed at him, he leapt off the fiberglass and dived over the wave, splashing into the water behind it. For a second he was in still water, and he swam as hard as he could for the barge.
Another wave hit him, and he rolled to his side to slice through it with his body. He was almost to the barge. He reached out, fingers grasping for the lowest rung on the ladder of iron bars. They struck air, and he fell back.
If I can't go this way, Joe decided, there's only one thing I can do.
Taking a big gulp of air, he forced himself up as high as he could go, until he was straight up in the water. Then he plunged down, dropping like a stone into the inky depths of the ocean. There, he knew, there were no waves. It was his only chance to get near the barge.
Joe's mouth filled with water, but he forced himself not to breathe or swallow. The barge blotted out a lot of the moonlight, and he couldn't see what he was doing very well, but he managed to stay under the side of the barge, feeling along the edge with his hands.
But then something grabbed his legs and quickly pulled him toward the back of the barge. There the moonlight glistened, and he could see the flash of the propeller blade as it whirled. Joe realized suddenly he was caught in the undertow. It was steadily pulling him straight into the propeller.
Panicked, he swam, but the undertow had him. It came to him in a flash that he wanted to be back by the propeller. Joe stopped struggling and let the undertow pull him back.
As his feet inched closer and closer to the whirling blade, he reached around the side of the barge. His fingers finally locked around an iron bar.
Slowly Joe pulled himself free of the undertow. His head broke the surface of the water, and he took a deep, cool breath of air. As it hit his throat, he choked and coughed up sea-water, but the next breath brought clear, sweet air.
Joe climbed the bars and rolled into the barge, landing in a pile of nets that had been stored there. He lay there laughing quietly to himself and staring up at the stars.
"I made it," he announced triumphantly.
Finally he sat up and looked around. The deck was empty. He recognized the kind of boat he was on. It wasn't the type of fishing craft that gets taken out by sportsmen for a long weekend. Professional fishermen who used barges like these usually went out early in the morning and were back at sundown.
What, he wondered, was this barge doing out in the middle of the night with no crew?
Just then, from below, he heard the muffled sound of a radio. It sounded like a man's voice coming from it, but Joe couldn't be sure. He wanted no one to know he was on board until he could check it out.
Crouching, he peered into the captain's tower. It was more of a little room set on top of the deck than a tower. A man stood there, steering the boat, and slowly Joe crept around the edge of the deck for a better look at him.
"Oh, no," Joe gasped as he saw the man's face.
Chrome Lasker stood behind the wheel in the captain's tower.
Joe scrambled out of sight. He had to think. If Lasker was steering the boat, then the boat was being used by the Director, probably on its way to Puerto de Oro.
Anyone else who was on the boat must be in the hold, Joe concluded. If he could capture the boat, he could bring the Director's schemes to a halt.
He crawled on his stomach across the deck, moving toward the hole cut into the deck that led down to the hold. Now he could hear more voices, and these not from a radio. But he couldn't make out what th
ey were saying. He raised himself into a low crouch, checking to see that Lasker hadn't spotted him. Then he reached out for the hold cover.
Joe slammed it shut as muffled cries erupted from below. He grabbed a nearby fishing rod that had been carelessly abandoned on the deck and jammed the handle into the latch, locking the latch in place. No matter how hard they pounded, he knew pounding wouldn't get them out.
Joe sprang to his feet and raced for the door of the captain's tower. He sprinted up the two stairs and hurled himself against the door, hoping to take Lasker by surprise.
But the door was unlatched, and Joe tumbled in, his feet slipping out from under him. Before he could get up, Lasker had pressed a heel against Joe's Adam's apple, pinning him down. The bald-headed villain had drawn and was aiming a gun right between Joe's eyes.
"Well, well. The Kid," Lasker said in surprise. "Good to see you again."
He gave Joe a lopsided smirk. "Too bad you had to come this far to die."
Chapter 12
"WAIT," said the voice from the radio.
Jolly lowered the knife, frowning as he glanced at the radio.
When he finally answered the voice, he meekly said, "Yes, sir?"
But Frank saw contempt in Jolly's eyes as he looked at the radio and his fellow crooks. Scanning the room, Frank saw the contempt on every face there. It occurred to him that, given half a chance, each of them would turn on the others and walk off with all the loot. He filed the insight away, in the hope that he would have a chance to use it.
The radio came alive again. "Let's give Chavo one last chance to come clean, now that he understands the gravity of the situation."
One of the men holding Chavo landed a fist in Chavo's stomach, and the Mexican dropped to his knees, gasping. Another man lifted up Chavo's head.
"Talk," the man said.
Chavo curled his lip into a sneer.
"No go," Jolly told the radio. "Now can I cut?"
"By all means," the radio said. "Be my guest."
Jolly lifted the candle and ran the knife blade up and down the flame. "You know," he told Frank as he approached, "if a knife is hot enough, any wound that it opens will burn shut." Jolly spat on the end of the blade, and Frank heard a quick sizzle. "Unfortunately for you, my young friend, a mere candle will never make a blade that hot."
He stabbed the knife at Frank's bare chest.
As the blade moved, Brady and Everest flinched, and for just an instant Frank felt their grips loosen. Before they could react, he kicked out, catching Jolly in the elbow.
Jolly howled, and the knife flew out of his hand. At the same time, Frank threw his arms straight up in the air, and dropped, using his weight to pull himself out of the grip of Brady and Everest. As he dropped, he grabbed their collars, and they jerked forward. Their heads smacked together with a loud thud.
Frank let go and rolled, knocking Jolly's feet out from under him. The heavy set man, still smarting from the kick in the elbow, collapsed to the floor of the hold.
Then Chavo hurled himself backward, dragging his captors off balance. He rolled into a backward somersault and was free. He sprang to his feet, driving an uppercut into the jaw of the man closest to him.
Frank drove a right hook into the other—and both men fell.
Brady and Everest were already scrambling to their feet, murder in their eyes. Jolly crawled along the floor, frantically trying to find his blade.
Frank rushed forward, head down, and caught Brady in a football tackle, shoving him back against the wall. As they broke apart, Frank clamped his hands together and drove a two-fisted smash into Brady's jaw. The criminal sagged and slid down the wall. He was too dazed to react to anything.
In the meantime Chavo had grabbed Everest around the leg and shoulder and, as the man sputtered in disbelief, lifted him up in the air. Then Chavo lurched forward, body-slamming Everest to the floor. Everest flattened out.
"Pretty impressive," Frank said.
"I watch a lot of wrestling on television," Chavo replied.
Jolly shook the fog from his eyes and lurched to his feet. He waved his knife in front of him as he faced Chavo and Frank. But the heavy set man's confidence was gone.
"Should we flip a coin to see who gets to take the knife away from him?" Frank asked.
With a feeble grin, Jolly flipped the knife around and handed it to Frank hilt - first. "I believe I'm outnumbered."
Chavo tapped his knuckles against Jolly's jaw, and the heavy set man gave out a soft cry, more of surprise than of pain, before he fainted. Frank folded the knife and put it in his pocket.
From above there was a sudden banging sound, as the hold hatch was slammed down.
"They're locking us in," Frank said. He raced up the ladder and started pounding on the hatch cover, but it was no use. Someone had bolted it in place.
"Who?" Chavo asked. "Everyone's down here except Chrome, and he's steering the ship. Who could have put that hatch cover in place?"
"Beats me," Frank said. He eyed the men sprawled unconscious throughout the hold. "I'm more worried about them. When they wake up, they're going to want our hides. We sort of took them by surprise, and I don't think that's going to happen again.
"Si," Chavo agreed. He began to tear open crates. "We must get that hatch open or find something to tie them with. Help me."
Feverishly Frank and Chavo pulled open crates. There was nothing in them that would help their situation. "What'd you find?" Frank asked.
"One of the crates is filled with guns, another with gas masks." Chavo paused, stroking his chin and staring thoughtfully at nothing. "Gas masks. I begin to understand."
As Chavo grabbed two masks from the crate, Frank pulled out a pouch-size plastic wad. "Look at this. Inflatable life raft." He lifted two small plastic oars from the same crate. "If we ever get out of here, we can use this to get off the boat."
"We will not get out," Chavo said. Already, Brady was beginning to stir. "We need a lever to pry the hatch open."
"Why didn't I think of that?" Frank asked, and leaned back against a crate. It slid away from him, and he turned to see why. The box had been resting on something, and when he pushed against it, it rolled off. The metal something was a crowbar — probably there to pry open the crates.
"Will this do?"
Chavo grinned and dashed up the ladder. He jammed the bar into the small space between the hatch cover and the deck, and with all his strength, using his weight for leverage, Chavo strained at it.
"Hurry!" Frank shouted, picking up the life raft. Brady was on his feet, and the others were moving and groaning. Chavo also groaned as he strained, but the hatch cover stayed in place.
Brady staggered forward, almost blindly, and grabbed at Frank. Frank kicked him away, and the man staggered back to sit again.
"Almost!" Chavo said. He squinted and strained with the effort. The hatch budged.
It flew open all of a sudden, almost knocking Chavo off the ladder.
They emerged onto the deck, tensed and ready for action. There was no one there. Where was the person who had locked them in? Frank's eyes drifted toward the captain's tower, where Chrome Lasker was standing, talking with someone.
Frank shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was imagining things. The man in the captain's tower with Lasker looked like Joe.
"Jump," Chavo ordered. They could hear the others stirring down below. Chavo leapt over the railing, and Frank followed, pulling the inflation cord on the life raft. It expanded as he fell.
They splashed into the water, and he and Chavo pulled themselves into the life raft and began paddling away from the barge.
To the west, Frank could see the lights of the island of Puerto de Oro. It shimmered on the sea like a giant jewel, a fantasyland unaware of what was coming to it. All the lights reminded him of Fourth of July fireworks, and he imagined that he could hear the loud popping.
They're shooting at us, he realized.
He crouched down, making himself less of a targ
et, and paddled harder until they were out of sight. The moon had cooperated and was now hidden behind a heavy cloud cover.
***
"It's good to see you, too, Lasker," Joe said.
Lasker laughed at his joke and tossed the gun on the control panel. Then he took his foot away from Joe's throat, and offered him a hand to help Joe to his feet. "Why are you crashing into my control room, Kid? I thought you were on the other end of the mission."
"I was," Joe explained, half-telling the truth. "In all the action on the other ship, I got thrown overboard. I drifted for a long time, until I spotted this ship, and I climbed aboard. I figured I'd capture it and get to Puerto de Oro that way. How did I know it belonged to the Director?"
"Well, you know now," Lasker said. "Some people are just born lucky, Kid."
As Joe stood, movement outside the window caught his eye. Someone had leapt over the side of the railing. "There's something going on down there." Then in a minute he saw the others, gathered at the railing, shooting into the ocean. Almost as one, they turned and raced to the captain's tower.
"Trouble," Jolly began to tell Lasker. He spotted Joe, and a pleased smile crossed his face. "Kid! Where did you come from?"
"What's the problem?" Lasker asked.
"Chavo has escaped." To Joe he explained, "He double-crossed us. And now he's escaping. We can't see his raft anymore, and our guns won't shoot far enough."
Lasker gave a big belly laugh and reached under the control panel. He pulled out a pair of night binoculars and a flare gun. "Let him escape this. This baby's got a range on it you wouldn't believe, and the flare on it'll burn that raft right off the sea."
"Chavo," Joe muttered, and again he pictured his brother being shot by the Mexican. He grabbed the flare gun.
"That direction, Kid," Jolly said, and he raised the special binoculars to Joe's eyes. Joe could make out a life raft, barely visible against the ocean. A man was in it. Yes, it was Chavo, all right.
Chavo, the man who had killed his brother. Joe knew this might be his only chance to make his brother's murderer pay for that crime.
Thick as Thieves Page 6