ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (27 page)

It was true Jackson had succeeded
in gaining the admiration of the toughest inmates on the yard—unfortunately Zac
had no such luck. Despite being the golden boy’s brother, for some reason the
gang leader had it in for him and lost no opportunity to let him know it. So
far, he’d been able to escape with only threats, insults, a few kicks and smacks
to the back of the head, but that was all about to change.

The afternoon was one that made the
inmates especially surly. The sun beat down unmercifully and the only shade was
taken up by the yard’s toughest bullies. Zac was fed up with all the bowing and
scraping he’d been doing to avoid trouble. Seemed like he’d kissed every ass in
the place and was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

In school he’d stood up to the
toughs who roamed the halls intimidating weaker kids, taking their money and
knocking armloads of books to the floor. Sure, he’d taken a few beatings in his
quest to assert himself, resulting in more than a few suspensions, but in the
end he’d earned their grudging respect and they left him—and his brother alone.

Seemed like this was a similar
situation, only Jackson wasn’t part of the equation. They liked him. Apparently
he’d convinced them that if they treated him well, when they got out he’d find
them jobs as news cameramen. Zac laughed.
Sure he would.
Well, whatever
works.
You got to respect him for coming up with the idea.
It kept him alive for the time being. Too bad he hadn’t been able to include
his brother in the deal. That would have been nice. He shrugged. Apparently
he’d tried but they weren’t buying it. Zac was on his own.

He was about to go outside to get a
breath of air when he was hit in the middle of the back with some kind of
object. It hurt like a sonofabitch. As he went down, he stole a brief glance at
his attacker. It was the same guy who’d baited him from the moment they arrived.
Name was Khan, least that’s what everyone called him—as in Genghis Khan, the
fearsome Mongolian warrior of the 13th century. Zac didn’t have a clue what the
real Khan looked like, but if this dude resembled him in any way, he was pug
ugly and fearsome as hell.

He rolled across the floor escaping
a second blow then sprang to his feet. Turning slightly sideways he
karate-kicked the man, catching him across the jaw. Khan screamed in pain and fell
down, holding his face as blood spurted from a split lip.

Thinking he was home-free, that the
man got the message and would leave him alone, Zac began to feel good about
himself despite the pain in his back. Then he saw them: Khan’s henchmen had
been standing in the shadows, waiting their turn.

That’s when Zac realized he didn’t
have a chance. There were simply too many of them. He bent over and rolled into
a fetal position as blows rained down on him.

The beating seemed to go on
forever. On the verge of losing consciousness, his body a mass of pain, Zac was
a helpless rag of a man with not an ounce of strength to buoy him. The
likelihood of his impending death not only didn’t frighten him, he looked
forward to it.

Then he heard familiar voices he
never thought he’d welcome: it was the prison guards. Zac viewed those guys as
toads and bullies, but never saw them beat an inmate—that is, not unless said
inmate asked for it. Come to think of it, that’s precisely what he had
routinely done. Oh God, he just wanted to die—not prolong the agony by getting
another whipping courtesy of the guards.

“Go on, get
outta
here,” the guard Zac had mentally named Bulldog yelled at the thugs. As he was
pulled to his feet, Zac steeled himself for the next round of pain.

Bulldog and another guard dragged
Zac away from the inmates’ quarters to an area of the prison he’d never seen
before. It was actually kind of nice, at least compared with where he, Jackson
and Charlie were housed.

Having forced him into a bathroom,
the guards propped him against a sink and began to clean him up. Zac’s brain
went on instant alert. He couldn’t imagine what they had in mind. Maybe they
were going to sell him back to Mo or some other trafficker. Considering that
prospect likely, Zac preferred getting beaten to death instead.

A few minutes later, the blood
wiped from his face, they gave him a clean jumpsuit and ordered him to put it
on.

“What’s happening?” Zac couldn’t
believe he was about to beg these guys to leave him in this hellhole.

“Shut up and do as you’re told.”
The second guard said. “And be quick about it.”

“Where’s my brother? Is he going
with me?”

The guard pulled out his
nightstick. “Shut your mouth. I’m not saying it again.”

Zac was in so much pain he
complied. He changed clothes, leaving the bloody garment on the floor.

“Throw it in the trash, fool. This
ain’t no pigsty.” The guard gestured to the well-kept facility. “We keep it
clean in here.”

Zac bent over to pick up his old
clothing, fully expecting a kick in the rear, but to his surprise that didn’t
happen.

“Let’s go,” Bulldog said. 
     

His heart sinking along with any
hope for the future, Zac walked alongside his jailers to meet his slave master.
They went down a well-lit corridor and stopped before a door labeled “Office of
the Warden”.

So the warden’s in on this.
Bet
he gets a cut of the sale.
It made sense when you thought about it. If
Belize was a hotbed of human trafficking, what better place to buy slaves than
from an overcrowded prison? Arrest people—then sell them. Who’s going to stop
it, especially if officials are on the take?

As the door opened, Zac didn’t
think his future prospects could possibly be worse. There was no hope for
rescue,
no where
to turn and apparently he would be
leaving his brother, Charlie and Izzie behind. They would, no doubt, assume
he’d been beaten to death by the inmates.

He walked in behind the guards
whose bodies effectively blocked him from seeing who occupied the room. Not
that he cared. Whether it was the warden, Mo or some new slaver, it was all the
same to Zac. Why bother giving whoever it was the courtesy of a glance.

“Zac Taylor.” An unfamiliar voice
said. “Join us at the table.”

Zac refused to budge. He just stood
there his eyes glued to the floor. They might have possession of his body,
could beat him until he could no longer stand, but he’d be damned if he’d be
respectful. He’d ignore them—his way of saying, “Go to hell”.

“Zac.”
Who was that?
It
sounded like Jackson. Had they managed to co-opt him? Why? He’d made a place
for himself in prison. Sure, they were starving, but he could hang on for a
month until they saw the judge. There was no reason for him to go along with
this shit.

“Zac,” he said again.

He heard footsteps and felt arms encircle
him. He glanced up to see his brother staring at him, his eyes blinking back
tears. “It’s going to be all right. We’ve been rescued.”

Thinking he’d finally lost his mind
and that Jackson was a hallucination, he managed a quick look around. The room
was fairly well appointed with a large desk and several guest chairs. A ceiling
fan spun slowly overhead. Several potted palms squatted next to windows which
overlooked the front of the building. A room-size area rug and inspirational
wall posters completed the décor.

Zac’s brain was so befuddled he
couldn’t put the sight before him together. There were several men he didn’t
recognize along with a woman… no—that was Izzie and Charlie.
What the hell
was going on? Were they finally getting to see a judge? Is this how they did it
in Belize?
No courtroom, just an informal meeting before a judge in the
warden’s office where he declared they were guilty?

“Zac, did you hear what I said?”
Jackson repeated. “Detective Anders came to get us. We’re going home.”

Jackson’s words confused Zac.
Could
it possibly be true? Was their nightmare finally over? Detective Anders here?
Pain
from the beating he’d taken engulfed his body making it difficult to breathe.
The room began to spin.

“Whoa, get him to a chair. He’s
about to pass out.” The warden, who’d been watching the brothers from behind
his desk stood as the guards complied with his order.

Zac recovered quickly but remained
baffled as to what was going on. He glanced uncertainly from one person to the
next.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s get
started,” the warden said. “Zac, of course you know the ones you were with when
the coast guard caught you stealing that boat.”

Detective Anders objected. “That
was all a misunderstanding. They didn’t…”

The warden put up his hand. “We’ll
get to that in a moment, Detective. Let me finish.” His stern expression told
Anders it was
his
prison and
he
was in charge. “So, now, Zac, I
believe you also know Captain Tom, the owner of said boat?”

Zac’s head was pounding.
Let’s
get this over with.
The son of a bitch was simply going through the
motions. He was going to throw them right back in that poor excuse of a prison
where they’d either starve, die of some god-awful tropical disease or get
beaten to death. The sad thing was that by the look on Jackson’s face the poor
sap really believed Anders was about to spring them.
Sure he is
.

He tuned back in to hear the warden
saying, “And this is Detective Richard Anders from the Tampa Florida Police
Department. I believe you know him as well?”

Zac nodded. Why was the man going
through this charade when he had no intention of letting them go?

“So, now, Detective, explain to
these good folks exactly what it is you want. And,” he tapped his watch, “let’s
not take all day.”

Detective Anders nodded. “Okay. Zac
here has been working undercover with the Tampa PD on a human trafficking case
back in the States after Jackson and Izzie discovered the operation and got
themselves in too deep. The trafficker, rather than kill them, used his
connection—in the person of Captain Tom and his trawler yacht—to hold them
captive and ship them to Ambergris Caye where they were sold as slaves.

“Zac managed to free them, somehow
or other and with the help of the captain’s first mate, Charlie, was trying to
rescue them by getting them out of Belize. He was in the process of doing that
when the coast guard arrested them and accused them of stealing the captain’s
boat. Now the captain here says it was all a big misunderstanding.

“So, Warden, we’re asking that you
drop the charges and release my friends immediately.”

Zac’s mouth was so dry he could
scarcely swallow as the warden considered the detective’s request.
Could it
really be true?
Would Captain Tom go along with the detective’s account of
what happened?
But why should he?
Wouldn’t he be subject to prosecution
once he got back to the U.S.?

Everyone waited as the warden made
a phone call, his voice the only sound in the room aside from the ticking of a
wall clock and an occasional outburst from the prison yard. Finally, after what
seemed more like years than a few moments, the warden put the receiver back in
its cradle.

“I just talked to the prosecutor
and he agrees the charges should be dropped.”

At first Zac, whose heart drummed
in his ears, couldn’t understand what he said. Then, seeing Jackson’s face
break into a smile as he hugged Izzie, he realized what just transpired.
Anders’ request had been granted. They were going home.

A gentle
breeze wafted over the foursome nursing their drinks on the deck of Crabby
Bill's Beach Club. For a few moments they sat quietly taking in the beauty of
Old Tampa Bay and watching several dolphins play. Seagulls made a racket as
they landed on the railing hoping for a handout.  

"Well,
that was interesting," Detective Anders said, clearing his throat.

"What?
The dolphins?" Izzie said 

"No,
silly. I'm talking about those people at the cemetery. On the one hand it was
sad for them to find out their daughter was dead, but on the other hand, thanks
to Zac here—and Leon—they finally have some closure. Now they won't go the rest
of their lives wondering. I'm glad you guys showed up. I know they appreciated
meeting you and hearing about what you went through."

When no
one said anything, he added, "Zac, that number you found on the windowsill
made all the difference. Turns out it was part of a phone number. We combined
that with the information from Leon's notebook and put two and two together.
Now thanks to your tip, Hester's parents can give her a proper burial.
Good job."

Zac
nodded. "Thanks."

"You're
going to make a great detective one day."

"If
I make it through the academy."

"Don't
sweat it. If you could get away from traffickers and survive the Belize prison,
police
academy'll
be a breeze."

"How
long will it be till I get to go after traffickers? That's what I really want
to do."

"You
have to pay your dues first, of course, become a beat cop for
awhile
. I'll push for you to get transferred to the Human
Trafficking Unit as soon as I think you're ready. You just have to be sure to
keep your nose clean in the meantime. No screw-ups," he looked at Izzie,
"Excuse me, well, you know what I mean."

Izzie
laughed. "That's all right, Detective. I’ve heard worse, especially in the
past few weeks." She took a sip of her gin and tonic then glanced at the
sparkling waters of the Bay. “Say, what happened to Charlie?”

Anders
looked at her for a second. “Oh, that’s right, I never told you.”

“Told us
what?” Jackson perked up, his old news-gathering habit still engrained inside.

“Charlie
was working undercover for the FBI. Unbeknownst to the Tampa PD, they’d had
Captain Tom under surveillance for some time. They planted Charlie aboard as
his first mate to keep an eye on him. He managed to maintain his cover after
things went sideways with you guys, but if we hadn’t caught that last shipment
and arrested Leon, I hate to think how things would’ve turned out.”

"What
about Captain Tom? He going to jail?" Zac said.

"No.
We gave him immunity in exchange for dropping the complaint against you."

"How'd
you manage that?" Jackson chimed in. "I mean he struck me as pretty
hardnosed where that boat's concerned."

Detective
Anders laughed. "Man, you’ve got that right. We told him we'd let him keep
the boat and wouldn't file charges against him in exchange for telling us
everything he knew about Donatello and Cottingham and dropping the complaint
against you guys. Luckily he went for it."

"Cottingham?
Who's that?" Izzie said.

"Leon's
old boss?" Zac said,
surreptiously
tossing part
of a
french
fry to a seagull trolling for scraps
beneath the table.

"Yes,
but he was also running for mayor of Chicago," Anders said.

"And
the reason for the media frenzy when we got back, right?" Jackson said.

"Sure
is. When his connection to organized crime and human trafficking hit the wires,
they went bonkers. Add that to the publicity your old boss, Morris Stone,
drummed up about your experience and, well I don't need to tell you what
happened."

"Yeah,
news interviews, requests for talk-show appearances, and get this—we even have
book and movie offers." Izzie grew more animated as she related the
information.

"Wow,
that's great. You taking any of them up on it?"

"At
this point we're not sure what we're going to do. We’re planning to get an
agent and an attorney to handle the details. I mean, there's a lot of money to
be made if we do this right." Jackson glanced around the table, "Of
course, we’ll get you guys involved."

"Dam
straight." Zac laughed and took a pull from his bottle of beer. "So,
Detective..."

"Rick.
Now that you're going to be part of the force, call me Rick."

"All
right, Rick it is. What happened to Leon?  

 "Little
shit's
tucked away in a place no one—especially not
Cottingham's henchmen—will ever find him. At least that's the plan.”

“Think he’ll
stay out of trouble?”

“With him
you never know. Maybe he finally learned his lesson.” Anders gazed over to the
beach where sunbathers and swimmers were enjoying themselves. “But the fact is,
without the information he provided, you’d be dead meat. You do realize that,
don't you?"

"Yes,
but think about this. If it wasn’t for him and the crap he was involved in, we
wouldn't have gotten in that mess in the first place," Izzie said, her
chin firmed up as if ready for a fight.

"Well,
now
Iz
, that's debatable," Jackson said.

"Oh
no, not this again," Zac said. He stood and tossed some bills on the
table. "I gotta go. See you all later."

Taking
that as his cue, Anders also stood. "I better get a move on as well. Stay
out of trouble you two."

For a few
moments Izzie and Jackson watched as the sun began to slide toward the Bay,
leaving vivid golds, reds and purples in its wake. Jackson reached across the
table and took Izzie's hand. "Mom said she'd come for the wedding when we
get around to setting a date."

"You
told her?"

"Well,
duh. Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"We
haven't told Zac yet. Don't you think we should've said something?"

"We'll
do it tonight when he gets home. Okay?"

"Yeah,
that'll be fine. So what'd your mom say?"

"That
she's happy for us and can't wait to meet you." He leaned over and
kissed her, then laughed.

 Izzie’s
forehead sprouted wrinkles. “What?”

“She said
she’s glad her boys are finally getting along."