Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

“We don’t have to run. Just take the money and stay here,” Pacheco argued.

Ruiz spoke up, “Listen you two, if we do this, then I’m gonna be the new boss. And that means you two follow my orders. Right?”

Through the thin door, Dan heard two mumbled voices that sounded as if they were agreeing. “Okay,” Ruiz spoke again, “then it will just be the three of us. We will split the eleven million fair and square. That’s the kind of boss I’ll be.”

“What about the rest of them?”

“We’ve gotta kill ’em all,” Ruiz whispered. “I’ll take out de la Vega. You each take out three. But you gotta be quiet about it. Slit their throats while they’re sleeping off their drunk.”

“So what about this guy?” Pacheco asked. “Do we kill him too?”

Dan sat closer to the door and pressed his ear to the wood, wanting to hear what plans they had for him. “He ain’t a threat to us,” Ruiz said, and Dan exhaled the breath he was holding. “I say we just leave him here, locked up, until we’re done. We can deal with him later. Right now, we got some murdering to do.”

“Just who are you planning on murdering?”

The booming voice belonged to de la Vega, and suddenly the door exploded. Ruiz tumbled through the splintered wood and sprawled on the dirt. The huge bearded pirate rolled and looked up. Vega stood over him, feet spread and one fist clenched around the neck of a bottle of rum.

“You thinking about killing me and taking all the loot for yourselves? Don’t lie to me,” he threatened, “I been standing in the shadows and listening long enough to know your plans.”

He strode into the hut and bashed Ruiz across the skull with the bottle, sending a hail of broken glass and a slurry of booze across the room. Ruiz crumbled like a dead man. Carlos fled like a rabbit, and Vega turned toward Pacheco. The younger man, seeing that his time had run out, dove for Vega’s midsection, knocking him back into the far wall. And then the slugging began. Dan had to hand it to Vega – for an old guy, he held his own in a fight, even when he was drunk.

Dust rose from the floor as the two men grappled, crashing through boxes and knocking over other items that were stored in dark confines of the hut. Dan stepped carefully out of the way, while the men grunted and slugged, and he slipped to the back of the hut. In the darkness, he found the loose plank and pushed it aside, then sneaked out into the night.

At first, he crouched as he crossed the bright clearing, then as he reached the shadows at the edge of the jungle he stood and ran at full speed, ducking vines and jumping over obstacles on the ground. His breath came hard and fast as he sprinted, and he didn’t stop until he had penetrated the jungle for what he thought to be at least fifty yards, then he squatted and sat dead still. Through a clearing in the trees, he took bearings from the stars, then checked his watch. It was 2:15 in the morning. Hoping to get free, he had signaled Jacob to circle around the island to the far side, where he intended to meet the boat in a cove on the opposite side at three o’clock – only 45 minutes.

“Two miles,” Dan whispered through heavy breathing. “Two miles and no trail. That could take two hours or more.” From his study of the chart, all he knew was that the low pass between the island’s two major hills led to the natural harbor on the far side. With no clear indication of a trail, he would have to bushwhack.

Far behind him, Dan heard shouting. It was de la Vega, and he sounded furious. “Mutiny is it?” he yelled like a wounded bear, “I’ll show you what mutiny brings.” Three shots rang out, then there was silence. “Look, the rest of you men,” Vega roared, “the traitors Ruiz, Pacheco and Carlos got what they deserved. Who else among you wants to join them?”

The voice of the old man thundered through the trees and he sounded boiling mad, ready to shoot any who defied his orders. From the silence among the men, Dan surmised that Juan Baptista de la Vega had regained control of the rest of the men.

“Now look at what has happened,” the old man’s voice boomed again. “The prisoners have gotten away. But do not worry. I do not think the woman will leave her husband behind. I do not believe the children will leave their father. They will be back for him. And when they come, we will have him and we will use him as bait to capture the woman and the children. I will kill the man, sell the children, and keep the woman for myself. Now, get out there and find him!”

A cheer went up from the semi-drunk crowd, and loud talking followed as the men scattered to search for Dan.

At the sound of the cheering and Vega’s threat, Dan’s blood ran hot. “Over my dead body,” he muttered, then glanced skyward once again to check his direction and pushed quietly through the jungle foliage.

Gradually, the sounds of voices and men breaking through bushes faded behind him as Dan periodically looked at the sky to maintain direction while he picked his way through dense forest growth. Half an hour passed, and it felt to him as if he were making good progress over the ground. Beneath his feet, the land had inclined for more than twenty minutes until it reached a natural crown and then the terrain started to drop away and he knew he had passed over the saddle between the two hills and was descending into the lowland on the far side of the island.

The trees and underbrush were thinner and drier on this side of the island, allowing him to see through natural openings. Ten minutes farther on, he saw a glimmer ahead, and as he stepped into an opening the moonlight on the water brought a smile to his face. He checked his watch then pressed on. The land was falling away more steeply now, and as he reached out to grab a branch to steady his descent a thunderous blow crashed down across his arm. Unable to stop the scream of pain, he cried out, lost his grip on the branch and tumbled down the trail, landing in a heap in the bushes below him. Shaking off the pain, he looked up and saw the silhouette of a man standing above him with a club in one hand and a machete in the other.

Juan Baptista de la Vega belched out a cruel laugh. “Ah, senor, I knew I would find you here. And look,” – he pointed out toward the cove, where the catamaran was at rest – “there they are. I will have all of you. You should not have tried to defy me.”

Dan glanced at the boat and saw Jacob and Cadee in the cockpit. It looked as if they were staring into the jungle watching for him to come to the beach. At this distance, it was hard to tell but it looked as if the dinghy was gone.

De la Vega stepped closer, and Dan rose to his feet. “What? You expected us to just give up without a fight? You don’t know the Plover family very well, mister.”

“I don’t care who you are, you will not prevail against Juan Baptista de la Vega. I take what I want, I use who I want, and I kill who I want. There is nothing you can do about it.”

The old man lunged down the hill at him, holding the machete high and swinging the club. Dan stepped to one side and ducked. The club whistled over his head, missing by inches, and Dan snapped a knife-edge kick that caught Vega in the ribs. The gun flew from his waistband and vanished into the underbrush.

The old pirate grunted out his breath, stepped away and grinned. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“Not by a long shot,” Dan answered, then turned and dove through the bushes, rolling to his feet four yards farther down the trail. Pushing bushes aside as he ran toward the beach, Dan yelled to his family, “I’m coming”, but Vega was only five strides behind him.

Dan flew through the last line of bushes and onto the beach. The dinghy was there, pulled halfway up onto the dry sand, and he stopped in his tracks. How did that get here?