by Cap Daniels
I returned to the cockpit. “Here you go. Now we’re GPS equipped.”
Clark laughed. “I was just hoping to get close enough to Georgetown to smell the fried grouper or maybe jerk chicken if we happened on Jamaica.”
We settled in for the three-and-a-half-hour flight, and everything went perfectly.
My landing at Georgetown didn’t qualify as textbook, but I kept us on the concrete, and none of the big pieces fell off the old plane. We cleared customs without any issues. Surprisingly, Diablo had a diplomatic passport, but he wouldn’t let us see it.
I called my old friend at the Cayman International Bank, and he arranged for transportation and a suite at the Ritz-Carlton. It’s good to have friends.
On the beach, we had grilled snapper on paper plates, using plastic forks, and washed it down with Hammerhead Lager. It was quite a change from Diablo’s gourmet grilling, but it was welcome.
Every conversation we overheard was about the hijackings in the States. Everyone seemed to have a friend or relative who’d been in one of the Twin Towers. The unimaginable footage played endlessly on every television screen. As I watched those buildings burned and finally collapsed, and my blood boiled at the audacity of the terrorists to attack thousands of innocent civilians who were simply going about their lives, feeding their families, and not hurting anyone.
The attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 had been terrible, but at its core, it was a military attack on a military target. These animals had used our hospitality and our civilian aircraft to deliver a coward’s blow against an unarmed, defenseless target. Someone was behind the attack. Someone planned, funded, and orchestrated the atrocity. Those were the people who’d pay with their lives, and it would become my pilgrimage to send as many of those bastards to meet Allah as I could. They had no idea what hell they’d just called down upon themselves, and I’d make sure I delivered as much of that hell as I could carry.
25
Amigo
Back at the Ritz, we turned in early. Clark claimed the room with the best view of the pool. His justification for it was “just in case a fair maiden needed to be saved from drowning overnight.”
Diablo made a nest of one sheet, a blanket, and a pillow on the floor just inside the door. What a strange little devil he was.
I crawled into a luxurious king-sized bed and was asleep in no time, confident that Diablo wouldn’t let anyone through the door—not that I had any reason to fear we’d befall attack at the Ritz-Carlton. Of course, I suppose the victims of the brutal and senseless attacks in the States also believed they were safe.
I heard Diablo whisper, “Amigo. Amigo.”
Blinking, I pulled myself from my dream of Penny’s arm draped across my hip and her breath on my neck. I was so looking forward to seeing her again.
“Yeah, what is it?” I asked, trying to figure out why he would wake me up at four fifteen.
“I have to tell you about the men who killed your family.” He spoke in accented but otherwise flawless English. I thought I was dreaming.
“What are you talking about?” I mumbled in my barely-awake voice.
“Your parents, Archie and Jean, and your little sister. I’m sorry. I don’t know her name.” He spoke just above a whisper, presumably to avoid waking Clark.
I sat up. “What do you know about my family’s killers?”
“I was there that night, amigo. I saw what they did.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” I almost yelled.
He put his finger to his lips. “Shh. This is for you to know. There will be too many questions if we wake him.” He raised his chin toward Clark’s room.
“Okay, but why didn’t you stop those people from killing my family?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was young then. I was not yet in a position to make decisions. I did only what I was told . . . at least until that night.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“General Noriega was a bad man. He was using the orphanage to hide contraband.”
“What kind of contraband?”
“Drugs and money. Lots of both. That’s why your parents were there. They were moving the children to someplace safe so they wouldn’t be harmed when the raid happened.”
“Go on,” I encouraged him, unable to believe what was happening.
“They came to take one more small bus of children away when six of Noriega’s fighters discovered what they were doing. They killed everyone on the bus, amigo. Five children, including your sister, and both of your parents. They shot all of them, but your mother and father fought bravely. Your mother shot one of the men in the shoulder and then again in the face. Your father fought with them like a wild animal, amigo. Like I fight . . . just the same. He hurt them badly and even killed the man who had murdered your sister. Your father tore the man apart like a paper doll. I saw it happen from maybe a thousand meters away through a spotter’s scope. I had no rifle and no way to get to them in time, but I took a mental photograph of every man who was there, and I burned those pictures into my mind. When they finally killed your father, he was swinging a machete like a sword. He died fighting like a warrior . . . like you, amigo. When I first saw you in the helicopter in the jungle, I knew immediately who you were. And when I saw you fight on that ship, I knew your father had not died. His spirit is in you. You look like him and move like him. He is very proud.”
I couldn’t process everything he was telling me.
Is this all a dream, just like Anya’s story when I was in the recompression chamber? Can any of this be true?
“What about the men from that night? Where are they now?”
“They are in hell, amigo. I sent them there. I killed them with the same machete your father held as he died.”
“When?”
“Not long after they murdered your family. I followed them and found them sleeping. I woke each of them so they would spend all of eternity knowing they had died by your father’s knife. That is how I became this animal that I am. That is when I stopped living as a man and became a weapon against men like them.”
“Why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me before?” Confusion dripped from my every word.
“It was not the time before. There was much work to be done, and this is too much to think about in times like those. I hope you understand.”
“I do,” I whispered. “Thank you, my friend.”
* * *
The rays of the morning sun filtered through the windows and cast shapes and shadows on the western wall of the suite. Knowing that my family’s killers had paid the ultimate price for what they’d done should’ve brought me some degree of closure and satisfaction, but it didn’t. To me, it closed and locked a door on a scene I could never reopen. I had wanted to find the men who’d murdered my family and cut them down one by one. I wanted them to look into my eyes as they drew their last breath and beg for their lives. That had been done on my behalf, and I would have to live with the knowledge that their murder had been avenged, but not by me.
* * *
Clark came out of the restroom wiping his bruised face with a towel, then pointed backward. “That guy is taking a bath in about an inch of water. He is one weird little dude.”
“He’s all right,” I said. “I’m glad he’s on our team.”
“We need to get moving. We don’t want the girls to beat us to Bimini.”
I showered and shaved in the other restroom. When I came out, room service had arrived. There was an enormous breakfast spread on the table, and we ate like civilized humans from glass plates and with real silverware. It was a nice change.
Diablo didn’t speak another word in English that morning, and he ignored us when we spoke. Clark was right—he was one strange bird, but I had a lot of respect for Diablo de Agua.
We landed in Bimini just before noon and shut down on the ramp. Two men from the customs and immigration office climbed aboard the plane before we unbuckled our shoulder harnesses.
One of the men extended his hand. “Passports, please.”
We handed them over, and he promptly stamped each of them. “Welcome to Bimini. Enjoy your stay. You can leave our airplane here, and someone will take it away later.”
“We have a passenger in the back,” I said. “He’ll need a stamp, too.”
Both men laid eyes on Diablo.
“Do you see any passengers?” the first man said.
“No, just an empty cargo plane,” said the other.
They climbed out and disappeared back into the terminal.
“That was weird,” I said.
“What was weird?” asked Clark. “I didn’t see anything.”
We hired a truck to take us and our gear to the marina on the south side of Port Royal and waited for my catamaran to sail into the marina.
It wasn’t long before I saw the top of the mast and the brilliant white sails to the west.
“There they come,” I said, unable to hide my smile.
In English, Diablo asked, “That is your love?”
Clark jerked his head toward Diablo. “You speak English?”
“Yes, of course. Everyone speaks English. You just assumed I could not because I did not.”
Clark playfully pulled a knife from the bar and shook the blade toward Diablo. “You’re a sneaky little dude. I’m keeping my eye on you now.”
Diablo smiled and struck Clark’s wrist with the back of his fist, sending the knife clanging to the ground. “Never bring a knife to a fight with the devil.”
I laughed at the exchange and finally answered Diablo’s question. “Yes, that’s my love. She’s a fifty-foot custom sailing catamaran.”
He smiled. “No, amigo. Not the boat. Your love is aboard the boat. I see it in your smile. Penny or Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth is like my little sister. And Penny, well, she’s nothing like a sister. She’s . . .”
Diablo put his hand on my arm. “It is okay. I understand. My love is on that boat, too.”
We met my boat at the dock and helped the girls tie up.
Skipper was the first one off and bound into my arms. “It’s good to see you. Welcome home!”
“It’s good to be home, sort of,” I said. “How was the sail over?”
“Fine.” she said, turning to Clark. “Oh my God. Clark, are you all right? What happened to you?”
He hugged her. “Let’s just say I learned my lesson about buying American. Chinese razors suck.”
Skipper turned to Diablo and stuck out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth.”
“I’m sorry, Skipper. This is Diablo de Agua. He worked with us on this operation.”
“It is nice to meet you, Elizabeth. I have heard many great things about you. Please call me David . . . David Ruiz.”
“Seriously?” Clark said. “Your name is David? I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”
Diablo laughed. “What makes you think the devil ever sleeps, Cara de Bebe?”
Penny came bouncing down from the helm station. Her hair danced wildly around her head in the midday breeze. She threw her arms around me and pressed her lips to mine.
“I missed you,” she said. “I was worried.”
I stole another kiss. “I missed you, too.”
She hugged Clark and dabbed at his bruised face. “You’re still pretty,” she said, “but that looks like it hurts.”
“And this is David,” I said. “David, meet my love, Penny Thomas.”
Diablo grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Penny. Chase has been pining for you for days. He could speak of nothing other than seeing your face again.”
“Is that true?” she asked.
“Why would I lie?” Diablo said, feigning insult.
“There’s somebody on board who’s pretty excited about seeing you, too. She insisted on freshening up before we arrived.”
Diablo blushed.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get aboard. I think we could all use a cocktail, and Diablo, I think you have a debriefing to endure.”
He clasped his hands at his chest. “What torture that will be, being debriefed by a beautiful woman who insisted on freshening up.”
I was pouring drinks and listening to Skipper tell us about crossing the Gulf Stream when one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen came through the companionway. Her auburn hair breathed fire in the sun, and her radiant smile was impossible to ignore. Her green eyes were focused intensely on Diablo, and he quickly stood to greet her. They embraced, and then she took his face in her hands, which were no bigger than a child’s. She was shorter than Diablo, and they looked as if they’d been made for each other.
“Hey, guys. I’m Ginger, and I’m not short. I’m fun-sized. Isn’t that right, Diablo?”
“You’re perfect,” he whispered.
“I’m Chase.”
“And I’m Clark.”
“Oh, I know all about you guys. What wasn’t in the file, I learned from Penny and Elizabeth. It’s good to have you back, safe and sound,” she said.
I poured her a drink, and we sat in relative silence, listening to the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the rigging.
Ginger had obviously waited longer than she could tolerate. “We have some talking to do and some data to dump,” she said.
Diablo followed her into the main salon and closed the door behind them.
“I want to do what she does,” Skipper said as soon as the door closed.
“What?” Clark and I asked.
“She’s an analyst, and she’s amazing. She can find anything on her computer, and she says she’ll teach me. I know you were worried when I said I wanted to go to The Ranch, but now I can work with you and not have to do all that stuff. It’s perfect, and it’s what I want to do.”
“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have watching over me than you,” Clark said. “I think it’s a great idea.”
Skipper anxiously stared at me as if I had some standing to approve or disapprove her plan.
“Hey, I’m not in charge. If that’s what you want to do, and if Ginger’s willing to train you, I think you should go for it. I’ve never heard of an analyst getting shot.”
Clark formed a pistol with his thumb and index finger. “And I’ve never heard of an operator not getting shot.”
“I love you guys.” Skipper squealed and hugged each of us as if she were trying to squeeze us to death. “Thank you, thank you. I’m going to be the best analyst, ever. Just wait. You’ll see.”
“I have no doubt,” Clark said. “And speaking of getting shot, our hero here tried to get himself killed on this op, and almost pulled it off. He spent two days in the recompression chamber after blowing himself out of the water with about a ton of plastic explosive.”
“It was thirty pounds,” I protested. “And besides, you’re the one who got himself captured and tortured by the Chinese.”
“Touché,” he said.
Penny crawled across the settee and nestled between my legs. Her body felt warm and welcoming next to mine.
She gently pinched my chin. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad I have you to come home to.”
She slid her hand beneath my T-shirt and placed her hand over my heart. “I love . . . I mean, I love . . . that you come home to me. I know what you do is important, and I think it’s kinda sexy. My boyfriend is like James Bond or something.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Yeah, you’re kinda like James Bond. Aren’t you?”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant, am I your boyfriend?”
“You’re whatever you want to be, Mr. Bond.”
Ginger and Diablo came through the door and back into the cockpit.
“Guys, this is the best intel on Chinese surveillance technology we’ve ever seen,” Ginger said. “The NSA is going to wet their pants when they see this. You guys are amazing.”
“It wasn’t us,” I argued
. “We just gave him a ride in and back out. That little devil did all the work.”
“We did the work.” Diablo tapped his finger on his temple. “I just kept good records.”
Clark poured more drinks and raised his glass. “Here’s to keeping good records and coming home safely.”
We all raised our glasses. “Cheers!”
26
They Lied
We grilled a wahoo Ginger caught on the crossing and some vegetables Skipper had bought at the St. Augustine farmers’ market. We watched the sun melt into the ocean off toward Miami, and that made me think about Clark’s dad.
“I need to check in with Dominic.” I stood and headed for my cabin.
“Yeah,” Clark said. “We should’ve done that this morning when we landed.”
It was nice to lie on my own bed aboard my own boat without worrying about anyone shooting at me. I dialed Dominic’s number and waited for the rings.
“It’s about time you called,” he said. “Tell me you’re somewhere safe and that my son is with you.”
“We’re perfectly safe and sound in Bimini,” I said.
“Good. How was the vacation?”
I cleared my throat. “Ginger tells us it was the best intel ever gathered on Chinese surveillance technology.”
“Wow. Ginger isn’t usually that forthcoming with praise. You guys must’ve done some fine work down there. How’s the little guy?”
I laughed. “He’s fine. I don’t think you could kill that guy with a landmine. He’s something else.”
“Isn’t he, though? Listen, Chase. I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah, I already know about the hijackings and the World Trade Center.”
“No, it’s not that. I assumed you were already briefed on that. This is personal.”
I sat up on my bed. “Personal? What is it?”
“It’s Richter,” he said.
“Dr. Richter?”
“Yeah, Chase. He’s not doing well. It’s his heart.”
“Where is he?” I demanded.