ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (18 page)

Making
sure the door was firmly closed, Zac took the key to the trunk from his pocket.
For a fleeting second he feared it wouldn't work, that Leon had given him the
wrong one.

His hand
trembled, making it difficult to insert the small piece of metal into the lock.
He jiggled it first one way and then the other. Swearing under his breath, he
took it back out, wiped it off on his shirt and tried again. This time the
heavy lock popped open with a metallic ping.

Looking
up to make certain he was alone, Zac lifted the lid and pushed it back. There,
lying on his side, was Jackson, still as unconscious as when they’d placed him in
the receptacle hours earlier. To Zac he looked peaceful, if a bit cramped. The
small box containing water and breakfast bars had not been disturbed. Reassured
that his brother was safe, Zac replaced the lid.

He was
tempted to leave it unlocked. After all, this was his room for the duration,
what could be the harm? A vision of Jackson waking up and going “topside”
flashed before him.

Better
lock it. He’d check back every few hours to make sure his brother was all right.
Till then, with nothing better to do, he sprawled out on the bed for a nap. The
combination of sea air and good food serving as a sedative, he was soon fast
asleep.

****

A few
hours later, Zac was awakened by what sounded like the approach of angry voices
and heavy steps. Before he could get to his feet, the door flew back and a
white-uniformed officer walked in, followed by a flustered Captain Tom.

“I told
you he’s a tourist on his way to Belize.”

“That may
very well be, but all the same his room’s on your boat and we’re authorized to
search it.”

“You sons
a bitches harass me all the time and never find a damned thing.” The captain’s
face was beet red.

Zac
watched the scene in growing trepidation. What would happen if he opened that
trunk?

“Sir, stand
aside,” the officer said. The determination in his voice said he meant
business.

Zac
started to follow the captain out the stateroom door, when the naval officer
stopped him.

“What’s
in the trunk?”

Zac
swallowed hard and thought fast. “Just a bunch of clothes and old books. I’m
taking them to Belize for a friend.”

“Don’t
want to make a liar out of you, but open it and we’ll both be satisfied.” He
stood aside.

Zac
considered saying he’d lost the key, but the man didn’t appear to be a fool and
would only be more determined to get a look. Taking his time, Zac removed the
key from his pocket and began to jiggle it back and forth, hoping against hope
it wouldn’t open.

“What’s
taking you so long?”

“It’s an
old lock and hard to open.” Zac said and jiggled it a few more times. Just when
he thought the man would give up and be on his way, the lock snapped open.

“Good.
Now let’s have a look.”

Zac began
to lift the lid as slowly as he dared. A vision of being hauled off in
handcuffs danced before him. That’s when he realized getting caught might be a
good thing. They’d be finished with Leon and the whole freaking mess—except for
Izzie, of course.

As the
coast guard officer stepped over to peer inside, the boat lurched, knocking
them both off their feet and slamming the lid shut.

“What the
hell was that?”

Zac
scrambled to his feet and gave the older man a hand. “I don’t know,” he said,
and surreptitiously gave the trunk lock a push with his knee. “Oops, I think it
locked when I fell.” He looked at the officer, who appeared several steps
beyond aggravated. “Want me to unlock it again?”

“Oh
forget it,” the man said, his frustration coating each and every syllable.

Zac
continued to tremble long after the revving of the boat’s engine replaced the
man’s retreating footsteps.

His heart still thumping, Zac
slumped onto the side of the bed. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, his back
and under his armpits. The thought of a shower crossed his mind.
Before he could act on it, Charlie appeared at the door.

“Captain
Tom asked if you’d join him in the
pilothouse, that
is…” a smirk crossed his face, “if it’s convenient.”

Zac
chuckled. “I’ll be right there.”

“You say
something to him?”

“Why?”

“I don’t
know, he seems to have changed his opinion of you. It’s not that he didn’t like
you, he just has a low opinion of anyone associated with Leon.”

“Oh yeah?
Why’s that?”

Charlie
looked as though he’d been caught with his hand in another man’s wallet. “Well,
er, ah,” he seemed to cast about for the right words. “I don’t know, maybe I’m
wrong. It’s just an impression I get whenever we do business with him.”

Intrigued
at the possibility of finding out more about Leon, Zac tried to press Charlie
for details.

“I’m the
newest member of Leon’s crew and I don’t know all that much about his
operation. Does he do business with you often?”

Charlie
hesitated. “Just once in
awhile
. Look Captain’s
waiting topside. Should I tell him you’ll be up?”

“No need.
I’ll be right there.” Glancing back at the trunk to reassure himself that Jackson
would be all right, Zac wondered what the captain wanted. Only one way to find
out.

Opening
the door to the pilothouse, Zac found the captain at a control panel, his hands
resting on a handsome steering wheel. Leaning back in a comfortable-looking
chair, he said, “Well, hey there, Zac.”

The
windows provided a spectacular view. An L-shaped settee and table took up one
corner of the space, which Zac assumed converted into the bunk where Charlie
slept.

“So,
how’d you make out with that jerk from the Coast Guard?”

“All
right, I guess.”

“He get a
peek inside that trunk?” The captain smirked.

“I
unlocked it for him, but just as he was about to search it, the boat lurched
and we lost our balance. The trunk ‘somehow’ got locked again and since it’s
hard to unlock, he gave up.” Zac looked at the captain, who appeared almost
giddy. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“
Moi
? Whatever makes you say such a thing? I was here
waiting for him to finish and accidentally lost control. Guess that’s what
happens when you’re harassed by the Yew-
nii
-ted
States Coast Guard.” He snickered. “Timed it about right, did I?”

“You
really did.”

“Wonder
what would’ve happened if I’d been late.”

“Guess
we’ll never know, will we?”

“Your boss,
that Leon guy, seems to have a lot of friends in Belize. Always sending stuff
to them in trunks.”

“I
wouldn’t know, Captain. I’ve only been with him a couple weeks.”

“Well,
you might want to mention what just happened; how I saved his—and your—butts.”
Stroking the highly polished wheel fondly, he added, “Maybe he should lay low
for a while. I’ll be damned if I’ll lose the Bessie Rose working for the likes
of him—even if it does help pay the mortgage on this beauty.”

“Should I
tell him you said so?”

“No, I’ll
mention it next time I see him.”

“Good
idea.” Anxious to change the subject, Zac said, “So how fast we going anyhow?”

“Twelve
knots.” The captain waited for Zac to ask what a knot was, when he didn’t, he
added, “It’s the equivalent of twelve point sixty-six miles per hour.”

Zac
nodded, distracted by the beauty of the steering wheel. It looked almost like a
work of art.

Following
his glance, the captain said, “This here’s a classic teak yacht wheel. You
don’t see one
a
these
on every boat, you know. It’s
handcrafted to
the highest standards.” Puffing up in obvious pride, he added, “It’s got solid
teak spokes and felloes secured with stainless fasteners and holly bungs.”

Zac realized the captain had
deliberately used the terms “felloes” and “holly bungs” knowing he didn’t have
a clue what they meant. He’d be damned if he’d ask. They were obviously parts
of the wheel; he just didn’t know which parts.

The captain looked as though he was
about to expound when the radio crackled. Zac didn’t get it all, but enough.
His fear at the outset of the trip would soon be realized: A big storm was
headed their way.

It wasn’t
long before a dull lead color replaced the sky’s cobalt blue. A strong wind
picked up and the sea began to churn, causing the trawler to heave.  Zac’s
stomach pitched along with the ever increasing size of the waves. He choked
back a surge of vomit.

“Hey, you
don’t look so good. Probably seasick. Why don’t you go ride out the storm in
your stateroom?
Me
and Charlie are used to this. It’ll
pass in an hour or so. Go on now.”

The
captain’s sudden kindness took Zac by surprise. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after
all. A sudden downfall flooded the deck. As the boat continued to be tossed in
the growing storm, Zac, grasping overhead handrails, made his way down the
steps to his stateroom.

Going to
the “head” he promptly disposed of the lunch he’d enjoyed a few hours earlier,
then retched a few more times. His head hurt, he felt dizzy,
his
legs were rubbery. He stretched out on the bed hoping a nap would help. That’s
when the boat’s pitching became more violent, sending the trunk sliding across
the floor where it crashed into the wall—or as the captain would say, the
“bulkhead”.

Momentarily
forgetting how sick he was, Zac hurried to unlock the trunk, hoping Charlie
wouldn’t choose this moment to check on him. Wedging himself between the wall
and the chest, he pulled up the lid.

Jackson's
bewildered look said it all:
Where am I?
Zac helped him out of the
trunk; between the boat's pitching and his cramped muscles, he could barely
stand. "
Wh
-what the hell?" His raspy voice
was little more than a whisper.

Looking
at the door to make sure it remained closed, Zac put a finger to his lips.
"
Ssh
." He motioned Jackson to the bed,
then, retrieving the box of rations, opened a bottle of water. "Here,
drink this."

As the
boat continued to rock back and forth, Zac lost his balance, spilling the
water. "Damn." He retrieved the bottle and offered his brother what
was left. "

Jackson
gulped it down then tossed it aside. "What’s going on?"

Zac
folded himself onto the bed. "Leon drugged you. We're on our way to Belize
to sell you to his connection. I think that's what he did with Izzie too."

Jackson's
mouth dropped. "I suspected he was a trafficker, but had no idea it was
this bad." He started to say something else when there was a knock on the
door followed by the first mate's voice. "Zac. You all right?"

Jackson
ducked under a blanket as Zac simultaneously leaned across him. "Uh, yeah,
I'm good." He deliberately said it in a voice that made him sound worse
than he felt.

Charlie
opened the door. "Thought I heard you moan and wanted to make sure you
were still with us. Seasickness can be a bitch, that's for sure." He
grasped the doorjamb as the boat made like a roller coaster. "Won't be too
much longer; the storm's dying down. Then we'll talk about dinner." He
grinned. "Hang in there."

As he
left the room, Zac was horrified to realize Jackson’s foot had been sticking
out from under the covers in the first mate’s full view. Whether he’d noticed
it or not was anyone’s guess.

The storm
finally passed, and Zac awoke the following morning to a calm sea and a
growling stomach. He’d eaten so little at supper the previous evening, the
first mate had insisted on bringing a tray to his stateroom. Zac gave the bulk
of the food to his brother, who’d woofed it down.

Jackson
was to remain in the stateroom, hidden from view under a pile of blankets and
pillows. Zac stressed the importance of staying inside with the door closed;
that their lives and Izzie’s could very well depend on it. Faced with the
prospect of going back into the steamer trunk for the balance of the trip, he
readily agreed.

“I see you’re
none the worse for having survived your first storm.” The captain set his mug
on the table as his guest joined him. “Charlie said you were pretty sick last
night.”

“You can
say that again. Could hardly keep a thing down.”

“And yet
you managed to eat what he sent on that there tray.” The captain inclined his
head toward the dirty dishes.

Busted.
Zac hadn’t expected the captain to notice. “Yeah, well, as
the night wore on, my stomach settled and I got hungry. It was nice of Charlie
to do that.”

“Yeah,
that it was.” The captain stuffed a bite of sausage in his mouth and chewed.

Eager to
change the subject, Zac said, “So where are we?”

“Still on
the Gulf. Late tonight we pass through the Yucatan Channel.” Without waiting
for Zac to ask, he added, “It connects the Gulf with the Caribbean.”

“Oh,” was
all Zac could think to say.

“Look,
you might as well know where you’re
headin
’. There’s
an atlas on the shelf.” He motioned toward a built-in bookcase. “You should learn
something about Belize too, seeing as how you’ll be visiting there a few days.”

After
breakfast, Zac took the captain’s advice and pulled out the collection of maps.
The passage from the Gulf to the Caribbean was through the Yucatan Channel or
Straits of Yucatan, though, as the literature pointed out, it was neither long
enough to be a channel nor narrow enough to be a strait. What intrigued him
most was that the channel separated Mexico and Cuba.
Damn
, they’d be
passing through in the dead of night. Oh well, they’d probably only see water
anyway. Still, to be that close and sleep through it gnawed at him.

Anxious to spend time on deck, he
grabbed a book on Central America and headed up the steps. From the little he
read, Zac learned that Belize was in Central America, bordering the Caribbean
Sea, between Guatemala and Mexico. He hadn’t realized what a young country it
was. It had been a British colony till 1981. Guatemala refused to recognize it
as a nation until 1992. With an area slightly smaller than Massachusetts, as of
2011 the country’s entire population was only about 321,000. Zac was amazed.
Somehow he thought Belize was larger.

He glanced up, relieved to see a
sky void of clouds and a gently rolling sea. Now that’s the way to sail. He
prayed there’d be no more storms between now and their arrival the following
day. That’s when his real work would begin.
How the hell could he keep track
of his brother without endangering them both?

Despite his overwhelming
concerns—or perhaps because of them—Zac nodded off only to be awakened half an
hour later by the captain. “
Ya
hungry? I know I
am.” 

Over a lunch of clam chowder,
freshly baked bread and salad, the two men fed their faces, ignoring the fact
they’d had a sumptuous breakfast only a few hours earlier.

“Sailing stimulates the appetite,
that’s for damned sure. When you’re out here, if you’re not careful you’ll end
up with one of these.” Captain Tom patted his ample belly. “No time for
exercise on a boat. Seems like all I do is eat, sleep and steer.”

His mouth full of the tasty stew,
Zac nodded.

“So, what’d you learn about
Belize?” The captain pushed away from the table, a mug of beer in his hand.

“Well, let see. For one thing, I
was surprised to find out that they speak English and…”

“Yeah,” the captain interrupted,
“their version is a mix of Kriol and English. It’s
kinda
hard to understand till you get used to it. For example, if you want to say,
‘What’s your name?’ You’d say, ‘
Weh
yu
nayhn
?’ ‘Good morning’ is ‘
Gud
maanin
’.”

Zac could tell that, as usual, the
captain was enjoying himself at his expense. “Know what ‘Da how
yu
di
du
?’ means?”

Zac gave him a blank stare.

“It means ‘How are you?’. Oh,
here’s one you’ll need: ‘How much does this cost?’ say,   ‘
Humoch
dis
kaas
?’ He let off one
of those explosive laughs Zac detested, then said, “Don’t worry, you’ll do just
fine. What else did you learn?”

“That you can use the dollar,
without having to exchange it for local money.” Zac continued, “
and
if you need help, dial 90—that connects you to the
police.”

“Planning on getting in trouble?”
The captain’s eyes twinkled. He leaned in and said, “Just watch yourself.
Belize has tourist attractions which are amazing, but there are places you want
to avoid. Take Belize City, for example, there are gangs and drugs. Most of the
murders involve one or both. Now don’t get me wrong. There are really nice
areas where people with money live. Just don’t get mixed up with the others,
that’s all I’m
sayin
’. And if you’re under the
impression the
police’ll
come
runnin
’
to your rescue, you got another think
comin
’.

“Now, if you’re looking for a good
time, go to one of them bars in San Pedro Town on Ambergris Caye. By the way,
just so you know, it’s pronounced
‘key’
so don’t go calling it
‘kay’
and looking all stupid.

“We’re dropping you a few miles
north of there, so ask any taxi driver. They’ll know where to take you.” He
stood, stretched and yawned, “Gotta get back to the helm.” He glanced at Zac,
but made no effort to explain the term. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

Zac watched as the captain went up
the steps to the pilothouse. Glancing around, he took a napkin and wrapped it
around several slices of bread then filled his empty bowl with a generous
helping of stew. He was about to leave the table when Charlie came bounding
down the steps.

“Hey, if you’re still hungry,
there’s more on the stove.”

Startled to be discovered
pilfering, Zac said, “
Naw
. I’m going to read awhile
in my stateroom and wanted a snack in case I get hungry. Lunch was sure good.”

“Help yourself. There’s more where
that came from.” Charlie’s face wore an odd expression. “Want me to help with
the door?” Before Zac could object, he opened it.

Zac held his breath. How could he
explain Jackson’s presence and stop him from reporting it to Captain Tom?

Frantically glancing at the bed,
expecting to find Jackson smack dab in the middle of it, Zac was surprised to
see not only was the room empty, but the bed was neatly made.
What the hell
was going on? And where was his brother?

Charlie stood watching Zac, his
hand on the doorknob. “Something wrong?”

“Uh, no,” Zac rubbed his forehead.
“Just a headache. Guess it takes
awhile
to recover
from seasickness.”

“I think there’s aspirin in the
head, let me check.” Zac started to say he’d do it himself, when Charlie
crossed the room and pushed the door back.

Zac thought his heart would stop
beating right then and there. Jackson was probably on the toilet taking care of
business. He almost dropped the stew and bread he’d been holding. Stepping over
to the chest of drawers, he set the food down, eased onto the bed and waited.

“Yep, there’s a whole bottle in the
cabinet. I thought I’d left some but wanted to be sure. Take a couple and have
yourself a long nap.
Headache’ll
be gone before you
know it.” Nodding at Zac, he left the room, closing the door behind him.