Better to Beg Forgiveness (44 page)

"Bal, Shaman, Jason all get out at the ship."

"Understood," he said. "Bart, give us a full second stopped to get Bal out." He shouldered his loaded bag.

"Will do."

They pulled in front of the rickety dock, sunken pillars with metal and plastic railings installed in multiple generations. On the whole, he'd rather walk down the sand, which was an option here. The hovercraft were doing better business than the ships simply by making the loading task less arduous by pulling in close.

The car stopped, Jason lit out and pulled on Bal's arm as Shaman pushed. It took only a second for all three to be standing while Bart drove off, Shaman's angled arm slamming the door as the car moved past, splashing sand and grit.

"Hurry," Jason said, while moving at a purposeful walk. Running wouldn't be discreet.

There were crew aboard, he noted. That was good and bad. Stealing it wouldn't have been hard, and no crew would make that easier. Now they'd have to negotiate with limited funds.

Once eye contact was made, Jason waved. The man who must be captain from his hat and ragged but marked jacket waved back. Resisting the urge to shout, he led the others closer.

The captain was understandably nervous about three men with gear approaching, and they stopped a few meters back. Everyone kept quiet.

"We'd like to charter a trip for seven," Jason said. "We'll pay cash."

"Sho," the captain said with a professional smile. "I spec t'leave widin for-two hours."

Jason drew out a couple of bills and let them be seen. "We'd like to leave sooner." He saw Elke arriving from the next gate at a brisk walk and pointed her out. "Here's one of our party."

The captain turned and looked, then back quickly, distrustful. He had two men on top of the cabin section looking down, probably armed but with light stuff. They probably didn't know how to use them to any effect. However, the shooting would attract attention the team didn't need.

"Hunnerd mark each, minimum of fife," the captain said. "We leave tomorrow."

Aramis arrived, sweating in the humid salt-sea air. Ahead, Jason saw Bart and Alex at a brisk jog. Time to speed things up.

"Seven hundred it is," he agreed, peeling off marks. "Plus three hundred to leave now." He reached out and pressed the money against the chest of the captain, who took it.

The man was still reluctant. "I can fit more passengers," he argued.

"Yes, but we're in a hurry." Jason stuffed another hundred into the man's shirt pocket.

"And I need clearance from the harbormasta," he said.

"I think he doesn't want the hire," Elke said. "Take the money back."

"No, no, but we must wait," the man protested, arms out.

"Ordinarily, yes, but we are in a hurry," Shaman said. "There are only the seven of us. You can fit us."

"Yes, you'll fit, but . . ."

Jason slipped one more hundred over. This was about the limit of what he'd spend, and he hoped Alex had done well with the vehicle. He glanced at him as he arrived and got a nod.

Bart escalated by walking slowly toward the ramp, bag over shoulder. "Time is wasting," he said. Alex moved alongside with Bal between them. Good idea. Get him out of sight.

The captain was still stuttering, but his mate above was wide-eyed at the ongoing bribe. The other four crew varied from eager to cautious. This much money obviously indicated something was wrong. But there were only seven people.

"But . . ."

Jason turned with the others and started boarding. They made it up the swaying gangplank, an actual plank onto the boat and down into a cabin situated under the rakish command deck, whatever it was called on one of these things. There were couches and tables and a viewing window. The setup was comfortable enough, but made for crew, not passengers. Of course, everything was torn and worn from years of being overly packed to squeeze more money out of peasants who didn't care for even that luxury. This was definitely the right choice of boat.

As they sat, Alex gave him a look, with his eyes glancing up.

Can you pilot this?

He nodded very slightly. Yes, he could figure this out and it wouldn't take long. The only relevant question was fuel and range.

Out the hatch, Elke could be seen, as the captain jabbered away.

"But it's no problem," she was saying. "You do want our business, yes? We are all aboard."

The crew were definitely nervous. On the other hand, they did proceed to run through the checklist and start the engines. Jason kept an eye on his scanner for any encrypted signals.

"Anything?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. Though of course, they could be using a code I can't ID. Seems unlikely, but the potential does exist."

"Worried about it?"

"Nah," he said, hoping he sounded confident. "This is a tramp, they'll be glad of the money. We'll need to be sure of our position before liftoff, though."

"Plenty of money, I think we'll be fine. As long as we save enough for later."

"Yeah, don't blow it all on this. We still have to get off planet, out of system, and somewhere good. How did you do on the truck?"

"Ah, the truck," Alex sighed. "A good local deal."

"Why does that bother me?" he asked. There wasn't much money around here.

"I got two hundred cash, and a dozen head of cattle."

That was an interesting trade, he had to admit. "And the cattle are where?"

"We can't fit them, of course. But we do have the two hundred we didn't have before, plus the three hundred I took when I knocked the guy down. He gets some extra hardware in the trunk when he wakes up."

"That just sums this place up, doesn't it?"

"Yup," Alex agreed. "Yup, it does."

The crew cast off and they backed down the sand easily. The hoverwing was currently in boat mode and bobbed lightly. The bobbing stabilized as the impellers came up and the plenum filled. Then they were bumping, battering over the harbor chop, building speed and clearance to a skittering skip.

The captain kept a running dialog with port control, and Jason and Bal sat nearby, acting interested in the controls while listening intently for any subterfuge. The man's accent was even thicker than those in the capital, barely English, choppy and fast. Jason kept a hand near his pistol and an eye on Bal, waiting for an indicator.

It took hours to clear the harbor, it felt, even though it was only a few minutes. The captain looked over at them once, saw the tension, and said, "We hafn eben lift yet. Stress he gon' kill you." His expression was suspicious and apprising.

Jason forced himself to chuckle and said, "Work-related, and I get seasick. I'm sure I'll relax when we lift. I like the air." He glanced out as the docks fell astern, leaving only the rocky protrusions of the harbor mouth ahead.

"Ah," the captain replied. He seemed somewhat mollified. "We lift in five mints."

"Then I'll relax in six," Jason said, and Bal chuckled to offer some support.

Everyone was true to their word. In five minutes, the wings dramatically extended out into a broad anhedral. The ducted propellers increased in speed to an angry whining buzz, and the ride became rough as the craft bounded then skipped over the waves. The striking water made a drumming sound that tapered off into occasional slaps and then they were airborne.

Stress flowed out of everyone, almost in sequence with the props feathering back to a level that held lift and speed most efficiently. Accent aside, the captain couldn't be stupid if he could control this behemoth. Even "lightly" loaded it was carrying a lot of cargo.

"Can I hope you keep yo guns away for de duration?"

There wasn't much to say to that.

"We do prefer to do things honestly with cash when we can," Jason said.

"Good," the captain replied. "I like that way, too. May I shake your han, Mista Prezdent?"

Bal stood, stepped forward, and shook. "I thank you for your support, Captain," he said.

"When did you recognize him?" Alex asked, curious and wanting intel.

"After I recnize de lady, who blow things up on de news."

"Ah." Yes, Elke could be distinctive. This was such a case. Better remember that.

"So, we want to make it to Bahane, Kaporta, and do it quietly," Alex said.

"Of course. But you can't go into harbo. Watch well, they do. Tough to bribe. One person maybe. Not seben."

"So we need to stop short of there," Jason said.

"Short and out of sight and radar," the captain said. "That mean using fuel. Gonna be tight."

"Too tight?"

"I don' care who you are. I won't wreck my ship."

"That's understandable," Alex said. He didn't say that he considered that as a possibility if necessary. Jason could read it.

The team and crew socialized just enough to lower the crackly electric tension in the air. The crew understood that the team were mercenaries. The captain didn't mention Bal to them, and if anyone else figured it out they didn't say so. Mercenaries clearly meant gray areas of the law. This ship and its crew had done their share of smuggling, so had some idea of the issues facing mercs trying to be discreet and tossing money around while armed. The team was on edge about Bal's identity, already made once. They faced thirty-six very tense hours of travel.

Alex stood at the railing on the covered rear deck, watching the sea, listening to the draft. Partly he was trying to avoid nausea. He didn't handle water well until he had time to acclimate, and there wouldn't be enough time on this trip. The rest was old thoughts.

"Something wrong, Alex?" Shaman asked. He must have appeared jumpy.

"Oh, flashback is all."

He looked disturbed, and Alex immediately added, "No, not like that. Just a stray memory from another boat trip."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the one that led to me resigning my commission in the Corps."

Shaman nodded. "Of course I had heard mention of that," he said. "And of course it's not the kind of thing one asks about."

Aramis said, "So, Alex, why did you decide to resign?"

The kid was great at just stepping on things, like a kitten jumping on the dinner table. Alex sighed. It was one of those things that you could be proud of, in an embarrassing way, and so off the wall no one ever believed it.

"The problem with Barbados."

"I didn't know the U.S. had a problem with Barbados." Aramis looked confused, as if he was flipping through his history.

Alex decided to save the kid some time. "It didn't until then."

"Oh."

"Now I am interested," Shaman said.

"Well, back when I was young and stupid," Alex explained, "I got mixed up in an issue. We were doing drug interdictions in the Caribbean, right after it started coalescing into the Pan Carib States, and a lot of them were micronations—this was right after Sulawan went independent the second time, and all kinds of little islands were following the lead. Some were still territories. Some were nations, some were already PCS. The drug growers were booming, because the trade deals made it impossible for small farmers to compete with the big fruit conglomerates. So ganja was big business, and most of the independents had only a patrol boat or so and couldn't stay on top of it.

"So, America being America sends the Marines."

"Something wrong with that?" Aramis asked.

"No, nothing wrong with that. This time it was the right thing to do. So we were down there, with harbor boats and SkateRay patrol boats, using lifters and ACVs to drop in on growers. We'd usually hold them and torch the crop. Occasionally, one would take a shot or two for honor's sake, then surrender. Only a couple wanted to die.

"Anyway, we had downtime—"

"That was the problem," Elke said.

"Yes, but it started with a keg of beer."

"Uh oh," said Shaman. "I see where that went."

"Right," he admitted. This was where it got painful. "We'd been down there about three months. Everything should have been good. We had support, regular supplies, friendly locals. Officially it was peacetime, so the guys could get drunk and laid. Everything was good."

"That made it worse?" Aramis asked.

"After the fact, yeah," Alex agreed. "We'd been working with the locals. They didn't have a military, just an official police force. We're talking a nation smaller than most second-string U.S. cities. Heck, smaller than some suburbs. Good bunch of people, but police, not military."

"Yeah, I dealt with them about that time," Jason said, leaning forward. "Built them a runway. Heard about some trouble but never knew what it was. They hushed it up."

"That had to be it," Alex agreed, and knocked his drink back. This took some bracing. The rotgut was definitely bracing.

"So," he said, "we were drinking, talking about capabilities. We had been training. Ship recognition, weapons, relative nation force sizes, and it just continued as we started drinking. Someone pointed out our hosts had only six very small patrol boats. They were all around fifteen meters. Another someone said, 'You know what? I bet we could take them.' "

"Oh, no," Bart said, chuckling.

Nodding, Alex continued, "Next thing I know we're conducting an amphibious assault of the Barbadan Security Force Armory. All their weapons were stored there, it was just up from the dock, so it was one oporder for the whole mission."

" 'Mission,' " Elke repeated.

"Yes, we drew orders up. That is, I drew orders up," he admitted, flushing. "Of course, that attention to training detail may have been the thing that saved my ass from jail," he mused. Could it? He hadn't thought about it, had tried not to, but those orders had been submitted as evidence.

"You actually drew up orders for it?"

"I really did."

Even the captain was chuckling now. "So you have histry of hijacks, then?" he asked.

"It was one of those things you do when young and stupid," Alex said, looking at him. "This one was planned."

"So you took the armory?" Bart asked.

"Oh, yes, we took it, and held it. Didn't need to fire a shot. Everyone knew the score. It was a drunken prank, no harm done, and the locals were willing to consider it such if we backed off."