A Dishonorable Few (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  After weeks of patrolling the Moskito coast and interviewing the inhabitants, Captain Fernando Toledo was forced to admit that something sinister was indeed happening. Plover was hundreds of miles from her assigned area and involved in another undertaking completely different from going after pirates. But why would they lie? What was their motive? A British move to garner control of a canal across Nicaragua?

  Perhaps the suave British were not the friends they appeared to be, he realized. It also made him wonder what would happen when they all did finally meet up with the pirate bandits.

  26

  Rork’s Discovery

  Abuela slipped out just past midnight on the ebb tide, passing within a stone’s throw of the American warship in the darkness. The ex-American pirate even stayed on deck as they passed the Canton, watching the navy crew, bored on anchor watch duty, gaze at the schooner glide by in the faint breeze. He saw a young ensign leaning against a pin rail on the afterdeck and remembered that he had stood that same duty many a night. There was no challenge, no gunshot. They didn’t know how close their prey was to them, he realized, but by morning they might.

  An hour later the schooner slid slowly through the narrows between the forts of San Fernando and San José without an inquiry, the lookouts ashore asleep. Once they were offshore, the gringo told the man at the wheel to steer west southwest. They were going to meet with the others at Cayo Holandes. He had finished his business in Cartagena.

  El Gringo Loco doubted that he would return to the city—at least as a friend.

  ***

  Wake and Monteblanco got back to the ship at four, exhausted and emotionally drained. They went aft to report their results to Captain Terrington, who was surprisingly cordial in his reception. He had lieutenants Custen and Connery and the two ensigns roused to join the group. Terrington was looking forward to presenting a fait accompli to his cocky executive officer in front of the other deck officers so that they could see who was the truly experienced leader aboard the Canton.

  Wake wondered the reason for Terrington’s almost gleeful behavior and the presence of the other officers, but concentrated on telling what they had found out ashore. When he finished narrating the information they’d gained, Terrington stopped him.

  “The consul is in on all of this? The man I met named Swanson Singleton?”

  “Yes, sir. The same one who was here on the ship earlier,” Wake answered. “He handles cargo sales and protection for the pirate.”

  “And this man Toro Caldez is in on it too? One of the leaders?”

  “Yes, sir. He is related to the local government leadership, has negotiated for the pirates not to touch Cartagena shipping, and transports stolen goods on shore. Evidently he had a cartage business. There is a rumor he was killed tonight. They’re all in cahoots with the pirates, sir.”

  Terrington grew quiet, thinking for a moment, then said, “The Toro man is dead. We killed him just before midnight, at a rendezvous in the harbor that Singleton set up.” In the corner of his eye, Wake noticed that Connery had shrunk back from the group.

  Monteblanco interrupted, “Well, Captain, one more of the scum is dead, and I guess that’s good, but the problem is that he was related to, and considered one of, the political head men in this area. That means you killed one of them, which means this ship could be detained by the authorities. And, of course, they will not consider one of themselves to be an international outlaw, subject to summary execution.”

  Terrington’s face flushed, his hands reached for the back of a chair to steady himself. “Hmm . . . detained? Yes, it seems the situation has gotten more complicated than I thought earlier. Perhaps we should go—”

  Wake held up a hand. “No. Not yet, Captain.”

  “No? Why?” This Wake was on the verge of damned insubordination, Terrington grumbled to himself. He glared at his number two. “It appears that right now is definitely the time to go.”

  “Sir, I need to look in the harbor and find this schooner, Abuela. If we can’t find her, then we need to go ashore and find Singleton. He can tell us more about the leader of this gang, the former American. We need to know more about the man.”

  Ensign Moe, standing by the door, raised his hand. “Sir?”

  “What now, dammit!” blasted Terrington, who was starting to get one of his headaches, the ones that felt like his brain was bursting. He needed his medicine right now, but these people wouldn’t leave. They just kept dumping more problems on him. He hated them all at that instant.

  Moe cleared his throat. “Sir, I saw that schooner sail out just before watch change at midnight. Sailed close by, sir. I saw the name clear as a bell. I remember thinking it was a strange time to leave. Oh, and sir . . .”

  “What?” sighed an exasperated Terrington, who wondered what else would go wrong.

  “I saw a man, a tall white-looking man, standing on her deck watching us as she passed by. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think at the time that it could be the gang leader himself, sir. I’ve seen several white men on the vessels in the harbor.”

  “Oh God,” blurted out Terrington. “He sailed right by us four hours ago. He was that close.”

  Moe looked horrified. Wake nodded to the youngster. “Very good, Ensign Moe. You did well to register the ship and the man in your mind, even though you had no reason to suspect them.” Wake then turned to Terrington, who seemed in a trance.

  “Captain, I still need to find Singleton. He would appear to be the man who is manipulating things here. I don’t have much time before sunrise.”

  Set on getting the ship out of the harbor, Terrington recoiled at the thought of waiting to leave. “No, the ship must leave, and leave now, before they shut down the exit. Good Lord, I can’t allow a United States warship to be detained in this God-forsaken tinpot hellhole of a harbor.”

  Wake persisted. They were close to getting substantial information. He had an idea, risky but potentially productive.

  “Captain, why don’t you take Canton out the main channel now, while Don Pablo and I go ashore.” He glanced at the Venezuelan, who nodded agreement. “Then we can meet you off the beach on the Caribbean side of the city after sunrise. Around four bells. We can find a harbor boat to sail us out, they’re small enough to make it over the undersea wall at the false entrance so it won’t take us nearly as long as it will the ship to go all the way around the outer islands. The timing should work out fine.”

  “And what exactly do you hope to accomplish ashore, Lieutenant?”

  “Find out the real name of El Gringo Loco from this man Singleton, sir. Once we find that out, it may be easier to track him down. There must be something unique about him, something he doesn’t want anyone to know, that has made him conceal his name so well for these past few years.”

  Just then Connery stepped forward, “I concur with the executive officer, sir. I think this is a unique opportunity for us to gather intelligence of the enemy.”

  Terrington darted glances around the cabin, realizing the officers were watching him and waiting. His head was pounding. He needed them to leave so he could take that medicine.

  “Fine, Mr. Wake. Have it your way. We’ll meet you offshore at eight.”

  Wake pressed again. “And this time, sir, I want Bosun Rork with us.”

  “Good, good. I don’t care. Just get on with it.”

  Wake acknowledged the order and told everyone to get to work. As he closed the captain’s door after the others had left, Wake saw Terrington’s shaky hand open his desk drawer. The captain was searching in the desk as he muttered something about someone’s name.

  ***

  “Remember Rork, you’re our quiet muscle. Just be ready if you’re needed.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Quiet as a mouse in church, I’ll be.”

  Roosters were beginning to crow and dogs bark in the earl
y morning gloom of the ancient city as the three made their way from the docks to the American consul’s office on the Calle de la Mantilla in the oldest section of Cartagena. Fuentes had told them Singleton lived in a room attached to the back of the office. Once they found the building, Rork went around to the back through an alley and waited, while Monteblanco and Wake knocked on the front door. There was no answer to their repeated attempts. Wake was about to tell Monteblanco that they were too late, when the front door was abruptly opened—by a grinning Rork.

  “Kindly don’t tell me mum, sir. She doesn’t know I have such skills. An’ the parish priest would have quite the conniption if he knew, too.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Rork,” said Wake, trying not to laugh while they entered the black interior. Monteblanco struck a match and found a lamp, allowing the three of them to examine the two-room lair. The office part was crude, just a desk and two chairs—as was the back room with bed and dresser. From the lack of personal items it appeared that Singleton didn’t spend much time there.

  Wake found another lamp, lit it, and immediately began to pull open the drawers of the desk, while Monteblanco went through the man’s clothing and bedding. Rork stood by the front door as lookout. Wake found official documents, receipts and manifests mostly, but nothing incriminating. Monteblanco found a pistol and knife, some Mexican silver coins, and a daguerreotype of a man that matched the description Fuentes gave of Singleton. The picture showed him with a woman and child.

  They went back through everything again, but found nothing. Wake checked his watch and looked around for Rork, who wasn’t at his position by the door. They had to leave now, there was no more time for further searching, but where was Rork? He called out gently for him, not wanting to alert the neighbors, but there was no answer. Monteblanco shrugged his shoulders—he had been absorbed in the search and didn’t notice the bosun leave.

  Wake, seriously worried, walked out the back door, looking everywhere. He was starting to get frantic when he heard the familiar lilt from the alleyway.

  “Lookin’ for me, sir?”

  Wake was uncharacteristically terse as he whispered, “Yes, dammit! We’ve got to go. Now. Where the hell were you?”

  Rork grinned sheepishly. “Pumpin’ me bilge, sir. An’ while I was standin’ there doin’ me business, I happened to ponder jus’ where me ownself would be hidin’ something o’ value around this place. Then it came to me where, sir—as simple as me cousin Jimmy’s jokes.”

  Wake calmed down. “And where would that be, Rork?”

  “Well, by the pisser right there in the gutter, sir! Who in their right sane mind would be lookin’ in such an unholy place as that? So I tried to see if there was a loose brick in the wall an’ lo an’ behold,” he grinned again, “there was one at the bottom.”

  Monteblanco had joined them and asked excitedly, “Well, what did you find, Bosun?”

  “Can barely make out the writin’ in the dark here, sir. Please bring the lamp over a wee bit closer.” Monteblanco lifted the lamp up to shine on the paper Rork held in his hand. All three of them read it silently together. Wake was stunned. Rork let out a low whistle and murmured, “Jesus, Mary, an’ Joseph . . .”

  It was an official dishonorable discharge from the United States Navy.

  27

  The Black Jesus

  Wake was the first to move, and without a word strode back inside and out the front door. Rork and Monteblanco followed, all of them realizing they didn’t have much time to get back to the harbor, find a boat and get out to the Canton, and all of them pondering their discovery.

  By the time they arrived at the docks they were running, all semblance of blending in with the locals gone. Gasping for air, Monteblanco negotiated with a wherryman for a ride out of the harbor. When the old man heard the route and the destination, he smiled and the price doubled. He had rowed many a sailor who had overstayed their shore liberty and knew what they would pay.

  As they crossed over the undersea wall at Boca Grande twenty minutes later, Monteblanco grabbed Wake’s arm and pointed.

  “There is the ship, Peter. We may make it. But what will you do now that you know the secret of the document?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I do know that for now, this must be kept a secret. I want you both to understand that.”

  Rork and Monteblanco nodded their assent. The boat was quiet for the rest of the journey, the wherryman groaning with the effort to the point that Rork took an oar for the last mile of the slog through the seas to where Canton was hove to offshore.

  Terrington was in his cabin when Wake went in. The captain didn’t even look up from his bunk, only grumbling in a raspy voice, “I see you’re back, Wake. Is that Dago all right? You didn’t get him killed, did you?”

  It took all of Wake’s self-discipline not to walk the five feet to the bunk and jerk the man up and confront him, but he didn’t. “Mr. Monteblanco is just fine, sir.”

  Terrington’s words grew fainter. “Find out anything useful?”

  For a few seconds Wake debated his reply. He had thought about this moment during the long row out to the ship. “Nothing of import, as far as I know at this time, sir.”

  Wake thought he heard a sound of relief when Terrington leaned up on an elbow and said, “Really? Well, that’s too bad. But the important thing is that we are done here. The man Toro is dead and the pirates’ base for selling their loot is gone. We can rendezvous with the other ships at Colón, see what they have accomplished, and go home. I hate this area and I loathe these people.”

  Terrington, his eyes squinting and unfocused, held up a trembling hand and pointed it at Wake. “And that Dago diplomat can get a packet to his own damn country when we get to Colón. He’s just aggravated this whole mess. I’m tired of him on my ship and I want him off as soon as possible. Make sure that happens, Wake.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Wake, hoping he sounded sincere as he examined the drug addict before him and thought about what they had found at Singleton’s.

  ***

  Romero was not going to wait any more. This place was boring and his men were getting dangerous. Drinking rum all day and night was only good enough for a few days—not the weeks they had been there. They needed some release, some action. And if they didn’t get it against someone else, Romero feared they might get it against him.

  He had told Cadena as much, but the gringo’s lackey forbade him to take the boys on a raid, insisting that they all stay together at the island and wait for El Jefe’s arrival. But Romero had already decided he was taking the old steamer to Porto Bello and they were going to get some plunder and some women, one way or another. To hell with Cadena and his old womanly fear of the yanqui.

  At two in the morning, after Cadena and the others had passed out from rum, Romero’s crew took the old steamer out through the channel in the moonlight. He had planned to hit Porto Bello just before dawn, when the inhabitants were still sleeping.

  As they made their way from the island he thought he heard Cadena shout something. Too late, he thought with a smile.

  ***

  HMS Plover had never been to Colón. As she approached the town from Limon Bay, Russell surveyed the buildings through his telescope. He was not impressed. This was the famous trans-shipping point for the Atlantic end of the cross-isthmus railroad, but it looked like the disheveled shanty towns he had seen everywhere else in Central America. Upon searching the harbor front, he noted that Sirena and Canton had yet to arrive, and that meant staying around this place, known to be pestilential in the summer and dangerous year-round for sailors on liberty ashore. It was not a comforting thought.

  Plover moored off the town and Russell had himself rowed ashore, where he reported in to the assistant British consul, a flaccid lump of a man who gave no outward sign of intelligence or initiative. The consul w
as off at Barbados at some conference. The meeting, during which Russell did not discuss his endeavors along the Moskito coast, centered on what the assistant consul knew of the pirate, which was nothing much. Returning to his ship, Russell decided not to waste time ashore again until the Spanish and American warships arrived.

  ***

  From the afterdeck of Sirena, Toledo saw the mist rising from the jungle along the coast, forming puffy clouds that were then carried inland by the trade winds. No sign of civilization was apparent. The low mountains of the interior could barely be seen, the whole view presenting an ominous picture. So this is the legendary Darien? Toledo saw nothing special, but knew the only value of the area was in what he could not see from this view—the proximity of the Pacific Ocean, only fifty miles away.

  The Americans and French already were subtly fighting for position to build a canal here, once they had found a promising route. With what he had found out about the Plover’s activities, Toledo was curious how the British would fit into the scheme. And with a sadness, he realized that his country’s empire, which once ruled everywhere in this region, was now not even a second-rate player in the grand game.

  As they rounded Naranjitos and Toro Points and entered Limon Bay, Toledo saw the Royal Navy warship anchored ahead by the town and sighed. He instinctively knew he was involved in something he could not influence, and wondered where it would lead him and his ship and crew.

  Minutes later, with Sirena anchored behind the British ship, Toledo was being rowed over to meet with his ally—the one he could not bring himself to trust.

  ***

  It was so easy that Romero couldn’t believe that they hadn’t done it when they’d first arrived at Cayo Holandes. He just stopped the engine and quietly glided into the tiny bay, then dropped the hook off the old relic of a fort, built three hundred years earlier after Drake had raided the place. There was no shout of alarm, no gunfire, just a couple of dogs barking when he stepped onto the dock. He had never been to the village and was amazed at his luck. Dawn was still over an hour away and it appeared that Porto Bello was asleep. They won’t be for long, Romero mused with a grin, as he ascended the hill to the village. He turned to the thirty men around him.