Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

“How could it be gone? It was there just a few minutes ago.” Juanico shoved his wooden chair back and it fell with a clatter against the wall. He headed out the door, walking fast and swinging a machete with one hand. “Get all the men,” he yelled back toward Antonio. “Maybe those people came back and stole our boat while we weren’t looking.”

“What are we going to do?”

Juanico stopped in mid-stride and turned, “I don’t know yet.” Then he shook the machete at Antonio. “Just you quit talking about the old man as the boss. I’m the boss now, and that boat is my pride and joy.”

“Sorry, boss,”

“That’s a fast boat. We’ll never be able to catch them. But we gotta do something. Nobody comes into our backyard and steals from us!” He stomped away toward the dock. Behind him, he heard Antonio yelling to the other men to come to the dock.

By the time all the men came running, Juanico stood staring at the empty spot along the dock where the sleek red and black powerboat had been tied. He walked back and forth along the vacant platform and shook his head in disbelief. “How could this happen?”

A small, heavily bearded Brazilian pushed through the cluster of men. “Boss,” he said.

“What is it, Andre?’

“Do not worry. We can take the tug to go find the boat.”

“We can never catch that fast boat with this tug. It barely moves.”

“Yes,” Andre agreed, “but it will move, and the other boat will be dead in the water soon. It’s almost out of gas. The boss…” – he stopped and looked sheepishly at Juanico – “…the other boss, he told me to fill the tank yesterday, but I forgot.”

A grin spread across Juanico’s face. “Well, we will just let them run out of gas. How long will it take?”

“Only a couple of hours. That is a fast boat, but one that is thirsty.”

“Then we will let them run out of gas for the next couple of hours, and then we will go get our boat. In the meantime, we have a treasure to find. Who is brave enough to go into that stinking trailer to look for the treasure?”

A chorus of voices sounded and everybody’s hand went up. “Okay, to be fair, I will send you in two at a time and you can search for fifteen minutes. Bring out whatever you find, and then the next two will go in. That way everybody will have a chance. Andre, because you brought me the good news about the boat, I will send you first. Choose someone to go in with you.”

“I will take Antonio.”

Juanico flicked his hands at the men. “Go then, the time is counting.”

Andre and Antonio sprinted to the barge and jumped up into the trailer. “Whew!” Andre yelled, “It still stinks very bad in here. Smells like vomit.”

“How would vomit get inside a locked container?” Juanico asked.

“I don’t know, boss, but I know the smell of vomit and that’s what this is.”

“Your time is running out.”

Andre pulled his head back inside the trailer and he and Antonio started tossing things out the door onto the barge platform. “Whew,” Andre yelled as he threw a couple of blankets out the door. “I think I found the puke.” Next out the door was a mattress.

“You men,” – Juanico pointed to the other two who were just standing around with hands in their pockets – “pull that stuff aside and make room.”

A moment later, Andre poked his head out the door and he was wearing a grin. “Look at this, boss,” – he waved something black. “I didn’t find any money yet, but we can get some good money for this.”

“What is it?” Juanico walked toward the barge.

“It is one of those expensive American flashlights made of aluminum. The kind the cops carry. It was on the floor under the mattress and blankets.”

“Here,” Juanico held out a hand, “let me see it.” Andre handed it to the boss, and ducked back inside to continue his hunt.

From the heft of the flashlight, Juanico could tell it was well made. He looked into the lens, found the switch with his thumb, and pressed. In the palm of his hand, he felt a dull thud, but the light didn’t come on. He shook it then thumped it against his leg, and looked into the lens again while thumbing the switch on and off. Nothing. Then he noticed that from the butt of the flashlight there was a faint mist that looked like smoke curling through his fingers. He sniffed at the mist, but it didn’t smell like smoke, so he handed it off to the man standing next to him.

“Here, what does this smell like to you?”

The man sniffed at the flashlight and shook his head. “I’ve never smelled anything like it, boss. Maybe the batteries are bad.”

Juanico took the flashlight back. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. Well, the rest of the thing looks okay, so we’ll just replace the batteries.” He yelled into the trailer, “Hey, Andre, look for batteries.”

From deep inside the trailer came the response, “Okay, boss.”

Panama Coast Guard Station

Three hundred and fifty miles south, a C-130 rolled down the runway and lifted off. Through the headphones built into the helmet, Josh listened to Pfister. “We’ve got the cutter Victory on her way at max speed, but we’ll fly some air surveillance first and shoot some photos. According to the report we got from the Borboleta, the folks who found the container contacted a salvage operation to help rescue the thing. Turned out to be a band of cut-throat pirates that took the family hostage, threatened to sell the kids into white slavery and murder the man. You can guess what they intended to do with the woman.”

“But the family managed to escape?”

Pfister laughed and related the story to Josh. “Yeah, they broke out and the dad distracted the bad guys while the rest of the family got away on Whisper , their catamaran. Dan Plover, the dad, made a run for it across the island, where he had signaled his son to meet him an hour later with the boat. But the pirate leader, a piece of garbage named Juan Baptista de la Vega, caught up with Dan and was about to hack his head off with a machete when Nicole, the mom, showed up with a flare gun and ran a rocket down de la Vega’s throat.”

“Geez,” Josh grinned, “wish I’d have been there to see that!”

“Yup, then the family sailed off heading north until they could make radio contact with someone to report the incident. Borboleta was heading south, picked up Whisper ’s call and had a SSB radio that got through to us, and that’s how we found out about all of this.”

“Did they verify the serial number on the container?”

“They did. BA11M

“How long until we’re over San Luis Miguel?”

Pfister checked his watch. “About another hour and fifteen.”

“And the Victory?”

“About twelve hours.”

“What’s the plan?”

“If we can locate and verify the container, I have orders to quarantine the area and a hazmat team will be brought in from Homeland Security. Right now we’re just trying to isolate and secure the container.” Pfister looked at Josh. “And if this is the one, what are your orders?”

“I’ll be with hazmat. In fact, I’ll be the first one into the container.”

“I don’t envy you, Mr Adams.”

“You’re a smart man, captain.”

Sixty-eight miles north of San Luis Miguel, the red and black powerboat flew over the ocean with only the rear one-third of the hull touching the water. Both tachometers read 4500 RPM, and the huge outboards were screaming. Husam al Din stood with the wheel gripped in both hands, his eyes blurry from the wind. He had been confined too long to be satisfied with sitting now, so his legs were spread and his knees absorbed the motion of the boat as it skimmed the endless blue surface. It felt good to have the wind blowing through his hair.