Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

“Look,” Dan begged de la Vega, “please let us go. There is nothing to be gained by harming any of us, especially the children. What satisfaction would that possibly bring you?”

“You make a good argument, senor.” De la Vega showed the gaps in his rotted teeth as he grinned at Dan. “You want your freedom, is that right? Is that all you want? Just your freedom?”

“Freedom for our family, for all of us, yes, that is all I want,” Dan said. “You can keep everything. Just let us sail away from here with our children.”

“Ahhh,” the old man looked deeply into Dan’s eyes, “yesterday you had your freedom, and you had your children. But you wanted more than that. You wanted a treasure that you found floating on the sea. And now suddenly you are no longer interested in the treasure? Now you are willing to trade everything you have just to get your freedom and your children back again?”

“That’s right. You can have our money, you can have the container and everything that is in it. We don’t want any of it. What would you gain by not letting us go?”

The old man thrust his finger at Dan’s face. “I gain the fact that you will never be able to lead authorities to this island. And I also have a nice new catamaran to go with my nice new runabout.” He nodded toward the sleek boat tied at the dock beyond the barge and chuckled. “Haven’t you been wondering where that boat came from?”

The words escaped Dan’s mouth before he could stop them. “You are pirates!”

“Ha!” de la Vega laughed, “Pirates, are we? Hey,” – he glanced at Ruiz – “he says we’re pirates. How about that,” and the two men burst into laughter. Then suddenly de la Vega stopped laughing and growled through clenched teeth. “You’re right. We’re the deadliest pirates that ever took these islands, and there’s nobody for a thousand miles who dares to get in our way. Now I want the combination to the safe on your boat, or I’ll tear it out of there and blow the thing wide open. One way or another, I’m going to get all your money, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’ll give you the combination,” Nicole snarled, glowering at the old man, “but if anything happens to my children, I’ll come back from the dead and tear your heart out through your throat.”

“Hot dang, boss,” Ruiz blurted, “she’s a live one, ain’t she!”

De la Vega backed up a step and looked long and hard at Nicole, his eyes serious. “This is a real mother.” His words were quiet and sounded almost reverent. “Not that I have known it personally, but I can respect a mother’s love for her children. Perhaps if my own mother…” His words trailed off and lost themselves in bitter thoughts of his childhood.

Nicole noticed a change in the old man’s countenance, and softened her tone, “What happened to you as a child? What did your mother do that filled you with so much hatred of people?”

A wave of anger and sadness crossed de la Vega’s face. He had not told his story to anyone, and was unsure why he would tell it now. But he looked at Nicole and the words started coming.

“I was four when my mother sold me for a bottle of whisky. The man who bought me to work as a slave in his bar beat me with a strap every night before I was sent to sleep under the porch with the dogs and share their food and water. Ticks from the dogs sucked my blood until they swelled up this big,” – he held his finger and thumb in front of her face, an inch apart – “they sucked my blood until they got too big, then they burst and my blood was all over me.

“When I was seven, I crawled out from under the porch one night, ran away to the waterfront, stowed myself on a freighter and hid under the canvas cover of a lifeboat. I had nothing to eat for three days, and to drink I had only the stale saltwater trapped in the bottom of the boat. I thought I would die if I didn’t get off of that ship, so I jumped overboard in the middle of the night when I saw lights on shore in the distance. I didn’t know how to swim, but it was swim or die, so I kicked and thrashed my way toward the lights and finally came ashore on Isla de la Juventude.

“I broke into people’s houses to steal food and lived like an animal in the jungle for six years. Then I fell in with Castro’s revolutionary brigade. They took me in because I was tough and could live like a rat in a garbage dump. They taught me all I needed to know about taking what I wanted from those who had more than I did. But years later I saw that Castro’s government was nothing but a lie, so I got out, stole a boat and came here to set up business.”

“Sounds like a hard life,” Dan said.

De la Vega blinked and shook his head, as if to remove the memories. “You have no idea.” Then a cold grin spread across his mouth. “But you’re about to find out.” Turning to Ruiz, he gave the order. “Throw them in the hut. Lock it solid. If either one of them tries to get away, kill the other one. We’ll deal with them tomorrow. I’m tired.” Then he strode off toward the end of the dock and ducked into the darkness of the trees.

Ruiz pointed the machete at Dan’s stomach and shoved Nicole with his other hand. She stumbled back, caught her heel and fell, her arms pinned behind her, and she cried out in pain.

Anger filled Dan’s heart. “You son of a—”

“Shut your mouth,” Ruiz ordered. “Get up and get moving,” the bearded pirate snarled at Nicole. She struggled to her feet and felt Ruiz’s powerful hand shove her forward. “You next,” Ruiz growled at Dan, spinning him around and planting the point of the machete against his spine. As prisoners, Dan and Nicole walked the length of the dock then followed a trail into the shadows of the jungle before emerging a moment later in bright moonlight at the edge of a clearing. There ahead were two small huts, and Ruiz pressed the machete into Dan’s back to move him faster.

Dan winced, and under his breath, he whispered to Nicole, “I’m working on a plan.”

“Shut up,” Ruiz snarled, digging the point of the machete into the flesh beside Dan’s spine. “Why wait for the hunt? I should kill you right now.”

The sharp pain nearly made Dan’s knees buckle, and he felt blood ooze from the wound and run down his back.

Thirty feet into the clearing the first hut stood in bright moonlight like a black tool shed. It was made of rough wood planks, hammered together with rusty nails and tied with bits of rope or braided vines where nails had no purchase. At first glance, it looked flimsy, but Dan could see that with an armed guard outside it was strong enough to serve as a temporary prison.

“Get in there and shut up or I’ll beat your brains in,” Ruiz threatened them as he shoved them through the door and slammed it shut. From inside, they heard the metallic sound of a lock snicking closed through a latch. Why would they need a lock on a tool shed? The reality of it settled in. We aren’t the first prisoners to be held here. I wonder what happened to the others? But he didn’t even want to bring up the subject to Nicole.

“Back to back,” Dan whispered. “Quick, let’s get these ropes off.” They moved together, leaning back against each other. “I’ll do yours first,” he said and started fumbling with the knot lashed around her wrists. It took only a few minutes and her hands were free. A moment later, she had loosened the rope restraining his arms. He rubbed his wrists to restore circulation, then in the darkness felt his way over a pile of unidentifiable rubble on the floor until he reached the side of the hut and pressed his face to a narrow slit in the wall.

Twenty feet away, he saw the hut that held Jacob and Cadee. Through the thin wooden walls and across the short distance, they heard Cadee whimpering and they heard Jacob’s voice trying to console her.