A Fortnight of Fury

by David Culberson

  Lisa looked confused, and Boiled Bob filled her in on Bishop’s arrest and execution and tensions that had grown between Grenada and neighboring islands.

  “Will you cooperate?” Boiled Bob asked Lisa.

  “We’ll see,” was all she would commit to.

  Boiled Bob left the berth and climbed back on deck. He had no idea if he could trust her not to scream and run as soon as they were in a safe harbor, but he also had no idea where they were going and if anybody there would give a damn that Lisa was his hostage.

  * * *

  After thirty minutes of driving along the winding coastal road on the east side of Dominica, Charlie turned inland into the mountains and toward the center of the island. Arlan had taken his MAC 11 out of his shorts and placed it on the seat next to him, tired of the weapon bouncing on his crotch. He double-checked one of the two safety devices Captain Jay had demonstrated to make sure it was on. He couldn’t remember the second safety mechanism and didn’t want to ask Captain Jay. He hoped he wouldn’t need to use the weapon in a firefight.

  Charlie pulled off the road and parked the Land Rover in a clearing at the base of a steep hillside covered with thick vegetation. He said, “We walk from here. Keep your weapons hidden, and let me do the talking when we get there.”

  “Where are we goin’?” Captain Jay asked Charlie.

  “Jaco Flats,” Charlie answered and continued to walk up the trail.

  Arlan looked at Captain Jay and Tommy. They both shrugged.

  “What’s Jaco Flats?” Arlan asked.

  Charlie glanced over his shoulder and said, “It’s an old slave village. The Dreads started using it as a hideout about ten years ago when the government passed a law making dreadlocks illegal. The law only lasted a couple of years, but the Dreads keep the camp as a base to operate.”

  “Operate what?” Arlan asked.

  “There are two factions of Dreads at Jaco Flats. One doesn’t like the government but only wants to be left alone. The other is violent and wants to overthrow the government. They’ve been receiving weapons from Grenada that we know are being supplied by the Cubans.”

  “Didn’t some racists from the South try to take over Dominica a couple of years ago?” Arlan asked.

  Charlie didn’t respond. The trail was steep, and the jungle that enveloped it was stifling. Charlie’s silence could have been because he wanted to conserve energy, but Arlan believed otherwise. He’d heard of an attempted coup of Dominica two years earlier by a cast of bumbling characters, seemingly very similar to Boiled Bob and his crew. Part of the rumor was that Charlie was in the thick of it, as he was with most things in the Caribbean that US intelligence agencies were concerned about.

  In the 60’s and 70’s and early 80’s, the world was full of mercenaries, both active and retired, who were available for hire on a moment’s notice. Surplus weapons were as cheap as candy, and there was a crowded field of financiers who dreamed of owning third-world countries, particularly those countries with unstable governments and an abundance of natural resources. The bizarre thing was that most of these third–world countries were predominately populated by Africans or those who descended from Africa, while those who wanted to take over were white racists. Why racists would want to live as a minority amongst the people they despised was perplexing.

  The group that wanted to take over Dominica included a Canadian mafia lieutenant and a group of KKK members funded by a racist lawyer from a southern state. Their leader was an idiot who claimed to be ex-Special Forces and a mercenary. He was neither. He and his fifteen-member army and their weapons didn’t make it out of the US before an undercover agent herded them into a windowless van in a parking lot near Lake Pontchartrain, Louisiana, where they were surrounded and captured by CIA, FBI and DEA agents.

  Twenty minutes later Arlan asked, “How far is the camp?”

  “Another half hour,” Charlie shouted over his shoulder.

  “Why the hell would Boiled Bob be up here?” Captain Jay asked, clearly tired of the hike.

  Charlie didn’t answer.

  Arlan said, “You said that there are two factions of Dreads. Do they both use this camp?”

  Charlie said, “We’ve had no intel that they’ve split up. This will be a good opportunity to find out.”

  “What’s that mean?” Arlan asked.

  “We knew they had a dozen or so AK-47s a month ago, but they may have built up their arsenal. I need to know what we’re going to be up against when we come back to take the weapons.”

  “H-have you been t-to this camp?” Tommy asked.

  Charlie didn’t say anything for a while and then answered, “We had somebody in the camp until a couple of weeks ago. We found him floating near the mouth of the river with a deep machete cut in his neck.”

  Arlan shook his head, wondering if he’d just walked onto a movie set. This adventure was becoming more surreal every step.

  Forty minutes later Charlie led the group into a clearing with several wooden shacks and a dozen or so local men and women with long dreadlocks milling around. None were alarmed, and people went about their business with little regard to the newcomers.

  “Mr. Kline,” a voice called from the doorway of the farthest shack. “We knew you were coming since you parked your vehicle down the hill. White people have an odor, you know.”

  A tall Dominican with long, grey dreadlocks and beard walked out onto the shack’s porch. He had a large smile filled with bright, white teeth. He asked, “How can we be of help to you today?”

  “Ras Paul. Irie. Where are Ras Kabinda and his group?” Charlie asked, looking around the camp.

  “They are not here,” Ras Paul said.

  “I can see that. Where are they?” Charlie asked.

  “We split up a couple of weeks ago. He and his followers do not believe in Jah and Jah’s word of peace. They want to bring only bad things to our island.”

  Charlie waited a moment and asked again, “Where are they?”

  “I don’t think it is a good thing to be telling the CIA where my brethren have gone,” Ras Paul said.

  Charlie smiled and said, “You’ve heard that an invasion of Grenada is coming?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors,” Ras Paul said. He then pointed to Charlie’s waist, smiled and said, “I see you have weapons under your shirts. Have you come to invade us?”

  Charlie returned the smile and said, “If you’re stockpiling weapons from the Cubans your camp will be invaded. Not by us. Not today. But it’ll happen.”

  “Then I will ask again, how can we be of help to you today?”

  “We’re looking for a lady.”

  Ras Paul laughed and said, “You’ve come to the wrong place. The women here are all spoken for.”

  “We’re looking for a white lady who was kidnapped by a man whose name is Boiled Bob.”

  Ras Paul shook his head and said, “Don’t know anybody named Boiled Bob, and I haven’t seen a white lady here at Jaco Flats for years.”

  “Boiled Bob has a man with him named Maynard. He’s a short Frenchie and likes knives.”

  Ras Paul raised an eyebrow. He said, “I know of this man, but I have not seen him for a few months. He is Ras Kabinda’s friend.”

  “And where is Ras Kabinda?”

  “As I told you, it would not be appropriate for me to tell you the whereabouts of our brothers.”

  Charlie said, “Ras Kabinda has been getting weapons from the Cubans. You know that as well as I. You might have some of the weapons here in your camp.”

  “We aren’t armed,” Ras Paul said.

  “We’re going after those weapons. If anybody gets in the way, they’re going down.”

  A younger, clean-shaven Dread with short-cropped locks stepped from the dark interior of the shack onto the porch.

  Arlan recognized him and said,
“Slim?”

  The younger man looked at Arlan and smiled.

  Arlan said, “You’re a friend of Norman Doway. I brought the Bob Marley cassettes a few months ago. I met you when you and some of your friends came to pick Norman up in his village.”

  “I remember. Arlan? Right?”

  Arlan nodded.

  Slim smiled and said, “Tanks, mon fo de music.”

  Charlie, Tommy and Captain Jay looked toward Arlan.

  Arlan shrugged and said, “It’s a long story.”

  Slim said something to Ras Paul, who thought for a moment and said, “I don’t like you or your CIA, but I like Ras Kabinda less. I don’t want his violence and badness on our island.” Ras Paul leaned toward Slim and said something Arlan couldn’t hear.

  Ras Paul’s smile disappeared, and he said, “They’ve set up a camp at Trafalgar Falls.”

  Charlie stared hard at Ras Paul for several seconds and then said, “I hope you’re not jerking me around.”

  “It’s true,” Ras Paul said, then added. “Kabinda took his weapons with him. I didn’t want them in our camp. That’s why he left.”

  Charlie asked, “How many weapons did he have?”

  “A few. But one is too many. He was expecting more to arrive soon.”

  Charlie nodded and backed away to the trail, motioning the rest to follow.

  On the way down the trail Captain Jay said, “This was a fuckin’ waste of time. We’re farther away from Boiled Bob than when we started. We should’ve left last night.”

  Nobody commented.

  A few minutes later Arlan said, “Ras Paul had no Rastafarian accent. He had no West Indian accent either. He sounds like a British gentleman.”

  Charlie smiled and said, “He’s from here but was educated in England and has a doctorate degree in mathematics. He only uses the Rasta speak when needed.”

  “H-how far to the next p-place?” Tommy asked.

  “We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” Charlie answered. He then said, “Be prepared for a fight.”

  Arlan asked, “Why are you sure there’ll be a fight?”

  “Paul and Kabinda have been at odds for a year or more. Kabinda is violent. Paul and his group aren’t killers. They stick with thefts and an occasional kidnapping for ransom. Paul has been able to keep Kabinda in check, but we knew there’d be trouble if Kabinda went out on his own.”

  “Ras Paul must know about de weapons shipments,” Winston said. “Why didn’t you aks how de weapons got here?”

  “Did you see Ras Paul’s face when Maynard was mentioned?”

  “I did,” Arlan said. “He knows Maynard.”

  “You th-think Maynard h-has something to do w-with delivering w-weapons?”

  “I would say there’s a good chance we’ll find Lisa, Boiled Bob and the rest of the crew with Kabinda,” Charlie said, which caused Captain Jay to walk faster.

  Farther down the trail Charlie asked Arlan, “What’s with the Bob Marley tapes?”

  Arlan shrugged and said, “Norman needed a tourist to sneak them into the country. They’re illegal here. He knew they wouldn’t check through my bags at the airport. Hell, Norman must have bought all of the Bob Marley cassettes on St. Thomas. The bag was heavy, and he made enough money to pay for my trip.”

  Tommy laughed. Charlie smiled and continued down the trail.

  Captain Jay snorted and said, “Jesus, Rookie. That was illegal. I’m hangin’ out with a crook.”

  “Are you kidding?” Arlan said, thinking about all of the sordid activities he’d seen Jay involved with.

  Captain Jay laughed.

  Arlan shook his head and followed the group down the steep trail.

  Chapter 12

  DAY 9: OCT 22 (Afternoon)

  It was well past noon when Charlie’s Land Rover drove through the tiny mountain village of Trafalgar and parked on the side of a gravel road a hundred yards past the village.

  “We walk from here,” Charlie said.

  “You sure you know where you’re goin’?” Captain Jay asked.

  Charlie stopped, looked at Captain Jay and then up the gravel road. He said, “You see any other road?”

  Captain Jay huffed and started walking up the road, which led into a valley with steep slopes on either side that were covered with impenetrable Caribbean bush.

  Charlie watched Jay go by and said, “Keep the noise down, and don’t get shot.”

  A few minutes later the road came to a dead end. A couple of vans were parked in an area of the bush that had been cut. Beyond the vans was a clearing. In the center of the clearing was a large, smoldering campfire. A half dozen old, unpainted wooden shacks with rusted corrugated metal roofs made up the periphery of the clearing. Marijuana wafted throughout the camp. The few Dread men and women who milled around the camp were taken by surprise when four white men and a local walked into the clearing. Charlie, Tommy and Winston naturally spread out, widening their target area if the Dreads were looking to open fire. All had their hands ready to pull the weapons from their shorts. Arlan and Captain Jay looked over at the two familiar white women who sat on short logs near the campfire, staring slack-jawed at the group of white men.

  “Those women were part of Boiled Bob’s group,” Arlan quietly told Captain Jay. “I’ve seen them around the island.”

  “I know them,” Captain Jay said and then raised his voice and asked them, “Where’s your idiot boss?”

  Two Dreads came out of the nearest shack followed by Maynard, whose hand rested lightly on the waistband of his shorts.

  Winston looked to the shack and said, “Ras Kabinda. Wha yo doin up here near de falls? I tought yo and Ras Paul were friends.”

  The tall man with grey dreadlocks nodded at Winston, scanned the group and said, “Yo bring yo dogs wit yo everywhere you go?”

  “We’re looking for a woman. An American woman,” Charlie said.

  “Der are two of dem over der,” Ras Kabinda said and pointed to where Pam and Mary sat. “Take dem wit yo if you want dem, Mr. CIA mon.”

  Charlie looked toward Tommy and Winston and, with a smile, said, “I’m getting tired of being called a CIA man.”

  “I and I know you, CIA mon. Yo come to make badness fo I and I?”

  “We’re looking for a woman today. Not either one of those women. You can keep them.”

  Captain Jay had heard enough. He stepped toward the shack and said, “Maynard, you little piece of shit. Where are Boiled Bob and Lisa? I don’t see that tall stupid fuck Long Bill around either.”

  Arlan saw movement inside the shack and heard the metal on metal sound of a round being chambered into a rifle. Maynard stepped off the porch and pulled a large knife from his shorts.

  “They’re not here,” Maynard said.

  “You dumb little fuck,” Captain Jay said. “You think you’re pretty good with that knife, don’t you?”

  “Y-you left a dead man b-back on St. Martin?” Tommy asked, stepping in front of Captain Jay.

  Maynard looked surprised and then said to Tommy, “I-is th-that r-right?”

  “That’s right. You’re going to have to answer for it too,” Tommy said.

  Arlan looked at the others. They all knew what was coming next.

  Charlie and Winston reached for their weapons. Arlan saw the barrel of a rifle poke out of a window in the shack. He and Captain Jay reached for their weapons a second later.

  Maynard lunged at Tommy with the knife. Tommy sidestepped Maynard and grabbed at Maynard’s knife hand. Maynard was fast, and prepared. In one fluid motion, he tossed his knife to his left hand, crouched down and swung the knife at Tommy’s legs. Tommy was caught off guard for a moment. He stepped back, still holding onto Maynard’s right hand. Before Maynard could take another swing with the knife, Tommy stepped into Maynard’s body, blocking Maynard�
�s left arm before it could gain speed. Tommy then let go of Maynard’s right hand, grabbed Maynard’s knife hand and twisted it palm down, forcing Maynard’s arm to straighten and twist at an odd angle. The knife dropped to the ground. Tommy then slammed his left elbow down onto the back of Maynard’s twisted arm. A sickening crunch reverberated through the camp, and Maynard fell to the ground, his left arm bent backward.

  In the three seconds it took Tommy to disarm and break Maynard’s arm nobody moved. The camp went still, except for Maynard, who rolled away from Tommy, whimpering.

  Two Dreads appeared on the porch behind Ras Kabinda. Both held assault rifles.

  Charlie waved his MAC 11 and said, “We have more firepower than you. If anybody else comes out of the shack with a weapon, we’re going to rain bullets down on your ass.”

  Ras Kabinda looked from right to left and saw four sophisticated mini submachine guns pointing in his direction, then turned to see the two Dreads who stood behind him with assault rifles. Only Tommy hadn’t taken his weapon from his shorts. Arlan could imagine Ras Kabinda wondering how these white men and Winston appeared from nowhere and had gained the advantage within a few minutes.

  During the standoff, Arlan glanced at the MAC 11 he held and checked to make sure the safeties were disengaged. One was and one wasn’t. He lowered the weapon and, as discretely as possible, slid the cover from the trigger guard before raising it again.

  “As I told you before,” Charlie said, “We’re looking for an American woman and a scraggly-haired white man who is called Boiled Bob.”

  “I and I know dis mon, Boiled Bob. He gone. He and de tall mon, dey go last night. I and I doan no a ting bout de beef.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Captain Jay asked.

  “It means that your girlfriend is dead, and so are you,” said Maynard, who’d risen to his knees and then screamed and lunged at Tommy with the knife in his good arm, the knife he’d grabbed from the ground when he rolled back toward the shack.

  Arlan was ready to fire. Tommy stepped in close to Maynard again and, ignoring Maynard’s dangling left arm, used both hands and his thumbs to grip Maynard’s hand that held the knife. He didn’t try to disarm him. Instead, he made sure Maynard’s hand was tightly wrapped around the knife’s handle and twisted Maynard’s wrist and the knife toward Maynard’s torso. He then let Maynard’s momentum carry the knife into his body, just below his sternum. Maynard’s stare froze as Tommy let his body drop to the ground.