Tortugas Rising (11 page)

The silence made the situation even more unbearable for the hostages. Whispers began more from frustration than as plans for escape.

The talk of terrorists was the first whisper that broke the hushed atmosphere. The group of armed men had remained silent and given no indication of their origin. Both their language and identities were a secret.

They were well-equipped. Every guard held a similar weapon.

Katherine didn’t know what kind of gun it was, but with the stock tucked under their arm, it looked no longer than their forearm. Still, despite the small size, the weapon looked deadly in the arms of the mysterious men.

Pouches hung from straps woven into the black uniforms. The weight of their contents fought against the fabric. She assumed they held more bullets.

Expressionless faces hidden by fabric did less to frighten her than seeing the eyes of her captors. There was no emotion in the cold eyes. Each held the same gaze. Blue, brown, or gray, every eye held the same indifference.

She focused on the guard closest to her, and followed his stare. He looked above the crowd, his finger poised on the trigger guard of the odd-looking weapon, waiting to quash the first ill-conceived escape attempt.

The whispers continued.

“Terrorists, they have to be terrorists.”

“Are they here to strike against America?”

“Are they holding us for ransom?”

“Some of the richest people in the country are here.”

When she heard this, Katherine looked around the room and noticed for the first time that of all the millionaires and billionaires in attendance for the tour, not one was in the room with her. The crowd in the conference room consisted only of aides and island staff.

She looked closer at the faces around the room and spotted Brittany Hardy. The blonde was a fellow Investor Relations Specialist and had similar responsibilities. She was sobbing. She had tried to hide it at first, but it quickly grew to an open weep.

Katherine moved slowly. Not standing, scooting across the floor, trying not to draw attention to herself. She looked to Brittany, then to the guard. He watched. The dead gray eyes traced her movement.

She stopped. He did nothing. She moved closer to the weeping woman. It was soon obvious to her that the guard did not care. As long as she made no move for the door it seemed that the guard would not react.

Slowly she stood and with her eyes matching the guard’s. She moved towards Brittany; the guard only watched. She reached the girl and embraced her.

Brittany jumped and glared at Katherine. It seemed as if she was about to scream.

“Brit. It’s me. It’s Katherine. Everything is going to be all right.”

Brittany collapsed into her embrace, sobbing for a few more minutes before finally attempting to regain her composure. Katherine rocked her slowly and whispered reassurances.

“I’m so scared.”

“It’s okay, Brittany.” Katherine cradled her head like a little sibling.

“What do they want?”

Katherine shook her head, “I don’t know. But, they don’t seem like they want to hurt us.”

With a few short snuffles, Brittany stemmed the tears.

“Brit, are any of your investors here?”

Brittany looked at the crowd for the first time since the shots had been fired.

“No. I don’t see any.”

“Mine either.”

“Not even that cute one?”

“What cute one?”

“I don’t know. He was traveling with the new guy they told us about. Do you think he’s okay?”

“Paul? Yes. I know that he wasn’t here. He and his friend are with that jerk Savage.”

Katherine identified several more aides and assistants.

“Brittany, where do you think they took them?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure how we got here. It’s all a blur.”

A hand grasped her shoulder. Katherine gasped. Her blood turned cold, and she turned expecting to see the guard. But the grip was reassuring and gentle. She turned. Vinnie Carlito was smiling at her.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Fine, Mr. Carlito.” Brittany answered.

“It’s Vinnie.” Carlito crossed his legs and made himself comfortable on the floor next to the girls. He surveyed the room. “My boss isn’t going to like this aspect of the islands.” The joke fell flat but he pushed it. “I may just have to advise Mr. Bennett to pull his money out of this dump.”

Katherine gripped Brittany tighter.

“Mr. Bennett?”

“Yeah. He’s got a lot of money in this place and I’m not sure that terrorists were in the brochure.”

Katherine looked him in the eyes. “I didn’t know you worked for Mr. Bennett.”

“Yeah. It was a pretty nice deal up until now.” Vincent Carlito turned to look at the guards.

Brittany chuckled despite the situation.

Katherine held her tighter and whispered in her ear, “We can’t trust him.”

# # #

The safari cart hummed to life and lurched north. Paul sat behind the wheel and Steve rode shotgun with an actual shotgun in his lap.

Tire-beaten trails radiated from the HQ. The northern path led them to an iron bridge that crossed yet another moat. This one was wider and deeper than the one they had followed into the rhino paddock.

Steel gates framed both ends of the bridge; steel mesh covered the sides and top. The thickness and solid construction of the caged bridge brought a chill to the two friends in the cart. Paul locked the brakes on the golf cart and stepped out to open the gate.

It didn’t creak. It didn’t moan. It opened on well-oiled hinges. This lack of sound caused the men to breathe a sigh of relief. The creatures beyond would not have been alerted to their presence. Steve opened the gates on the far end.

Paul leapt back in the cart and drove into the lion paddock. Steve closed the gate and got back into the cart. He lowered the gun and set it across his knee. The ratty vision of a dusty coach rider entered his mind. The weight of the gun on his lap gave him little reassurance. The fact that the dusty coach rider was always the first to die didn’t help.

In his left hand he held one of the flashlights from the locker as a headlight. The cart bounced over the rough ground and jostled the occupants. Paul anticipated the turns and had a smoother ride; Steve was almost tossed out of the cart at every turn.

“Slow down.”

Paul stomped on the brakes and lost control of the cart. It slid to a stop.

“Do you want to drive? Considering that just today I’ve been shot at, killed a man, been dumped in the ocean more times than I can count, and am now driving this thing by flashlight, I think I’m doing a pretty damn good job.”

“I’m just saying slow down. I want to stay in the cart.”

A roar floated across the darkness.

“Drive faster. Drive faster.” Steve tightened his grip on the cart.

Paul brought the cart up to speed as Steve tried to determine the direction of the most frightening sound he had ever heard.

# # #

Water poured from the eyelets of his boots with every step, but Rick Savage wasn’t worried about being quiet. He ran north along the beach. The shots had come from the interior of the island, and though he was confident that his men could handle the two guests, he decided to flank them should the annoying pair get lucky yet again.

Those fools on the barren island should never have fired on Bennett and the girl in the first place. But, once committed they should have just killed the pair and disposed of the bodies.

He was thankful that, after tonight, his ties with the group would be severed. They were unprofessional and gun-happy. Had they never fired, chances are that Steve and Katherine would have thought nothing of the group working on the unfinished island. They might never have even spotted them. Now there were two loose ends running around the archipelago and another back at Master Key.

He cursed the amateurs again and picked up speed. A quick swim across the channel had put him in the lion paddock. He gripped the Heckler and Koch USP tighter in his fist. He didn’t know anything about lions aside from “king of the jungle” stories. But he wasn’t taking any chances. It would be embarrassing to fall to a cat.

# # #

Austin hugged his injured hand close to his chest as Martin boosted him up to the still smoldering plateau. He winced as he tried to flex his fingers. He grimaced and groaned, “It’s busted.”

“What do you expect? A damn rhino stepped on it.”

“Where’s my gun?”

Sanchez handed him the twisted frame of the submachine gun. “It was at the bottom of the gorge.”

Ramirez stepped from the ravine completing the four-man fire team.

Austin threw down the trampled weapon in disgust and reached across his right thigh to grab his sidearm. “I want to shoot them, now!”

“I think they ran straight to the middle of the island.”

A snort brought their attention back to the massive animals only thirty yards away. The small crash of rhinos was now fully awake. Satisfied with their firefighting job, they had returned to grazing.

Austin eyed the massive beasts and then his busted hand. “Do you think they knew that would happen?”

Martin shrugged, “What are you whining about? You knew the risks when you took the job.”

“I knew the risks and I am still willing to take them. But nowhere in the deal did it mention a possible maiming at the feet of a rhino.”

“Get over it. The doc will fix you up when we get back. Just try to keep your whining down so you don’t give us away.” Ramirez led the team to the edge of the rhino paddock. Across the bridge they could see the lights in the game warden’s shack. He signaled for the group to go low.

The unit reacted as one and dropped to their knees, each surveying a portion of the island’s central hub. Seeing no movement, Ramirez led his team across the bridge and surrounded the shack.

Sanchez took point at the door. He stood to its side and pulled a metal cylinder from his vest. With one quick and practiced move he tossed the flash bang grenade inside.

The noise was sudden and devastating. Anyone in the shack would be instantly disoriented. The magnesium core of the grenade would activate all of the photo sensors in the victim’s eyes at once, while the following bang would disrupt their inner ear causing enough disorientation for the team to move in.

Ramirez signaled the team to enter. The group swarmed the small steel building and found nothing.

“Spread out,” Ramirez noted the grim look on Austin’s face as he cradled his busted hand against his chest and led his line of site with the pistol.

The four men ran from the game warden’s shed and into the yard of the hub.

Ramirez made note of the tourist map. Zebras east. Lions north. He studied it for a moment. Two possibilities lay in front of him. He would have to divide his men.

“Austin, Sanchez. You head east.” They nodded and moved off towards the zebra area of the park.

“Martin. You and me. Into the lion’s den.”

Plastic shattered. Metal frames bent. The cart flipped over and crushed the canopy. Paul’s reckless driving had taken them over a hill too fast. Steve was thrown from the cart and landed chest first on the shotgun. His sternum throbbed with a dull ache.

The cart had landed on the driver’s side and Paul stood up from inside. “You okay?”

Steve stood and took note of his arms and shoulders. “I think so. But you broke the cart.”

“I guess we run then.”

“Okay, but run quiet. I still can’t tell what direction that roar came from.”

Paul scurried through the crushed canopy of the overturned cart and joined Steve in a quiet jog that pointed in the general direction they thought they should go.

“We’d better think of a backup plan in case there’s no boat at the docks,” Steve said.

“Of course there’s a boat. There was one on the map.”

Steve threw his friend a look that he had thrown him many times before.

Paul threw up his hands. “Look, I’m sick of swimming. I’m sick of being wet. My underwear has crawled so far up my ass that if I stuck out my tongue you could read the label my mommy sewed in there. I’m not saying I want to, but, if we have to, we can swim. The islands don’t seem to be more than fifty yards apart on average. That much, even I can tell. In the dark. With no yardstick. Or concept of space.”

Steve grunted his agreement. He had come to the islands to relax and maybe swim in the ocean a little. He had gotten his fill of swimming and the next vacation he took would not be to an island.

“I hope there aren’t sharks.” Paul said and focused on the rugged terrain in front of him.

# # #

Broken ground slowed Austin down. With every treacherous step, his hand ached and throbbed.

“Those rich kids are dead. Arrgh!” He screamed again as a depression beneath his foot sent a particularly large jolt through his body and into his hand.

“Quiet. You’ll give away our position.”

“What does it matter? We’re on an island. Where are they gonna go?” Raising his voice, he continued the threat. “There’s nowhere to go! You’re on an island, you dumb rich bastard! We’re going to catch you, and I’m going to kill you!”

“Shut up.” Sanchez stepped towards his teammate, “Be professional.”

“I am a professional. I’ve fought in countless conflicts with professional armies. I’ve taken out enemies in every climate. I’ve been shot, stabbed, knocked off my feet in an explosion, and even poisoned–once. But I’ve never had my hand stepped on by a fucking rhino. And it hurts! I want them to know that I’m coming for them.”

“Fine. Now they know. But lions are attracted to sound. All right? They’re inquisitive by nature and I don’t think curiosity will kill them. So keep your voice down.”

“This isn’t the lion exhibit, retard. It’s the zebra’s. Ya’ know little striped horses?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“How do you know that about lions? Did you do work in Africa?”

“No, I saw it on Survivorman.”

# # #

The dock was there. The boat was not. The map was wrong.

“It was a stupid map.” Paul looked over the edge of the dock. Steve stood behind him on the beach looking across the channel.

“This looks a little farther than fifty yards.”

“Sure. Who would want to live fifty yards from a lion? The smell alone would carry a hundred.”

“We don’t have any choice but to swim.”

A whistle spun them around. Somehow, despite being sopping wet, Savage had snuck up behind them. His pistol was trained on Steve.

“Savage, it’s us.”

“Drop the shotgun, Bennett. And move out of the way. I want to shoot your friend first.”

“What?” Steve held the gun tight.

“I told you he was trying to kill me.” Paul said.

“What are you talking about? Put the gun away, Savage.”

“Move Bennett.” Even on the darkened beach, his rage was visible on his face. The scar on Savage’s brow pulsed red.

Paul grabbed Steve by the shoulder and stepped behind him.

“Kill Steve first, he’s got all the money.”

“You’re a coward, Nelson!” Savage stepped closer.

Savage raised the handgun and pointed it at Steve. “This is your last warning, rich kid.”

Steve felt the barrel of a gun press into his back. He dropped to the ground.

# # #

The shots came from the northern path. Austin increased his steady gait to a full sprint and left Sanchez behind.

His hand ached with every pounding step, but the anger that burned in him was more than enough to block out the pain. He wanted to shoot the rich kid and his friend himself, but if the other team had reached them first he might not get the chance.

He screamed as he ran. Half at the pain and half at the frustration that he may not be the one to make the fatal trigger pull.

Ramirez was a good man and a fair poker player. Austin almost considered him a friend amongst the other people on the team. He thought that Ramirez may hold the pair so that Austin could have his revenge; but he couldn’t be sure.

Another roar sounded. This seemed closer than the last. Austin remembered the map and kept running. The lions were across the ravine.

The map was wrong. It had, along with many other of the elements in the park’s gift shop, been created by one of Warren Baxter’s promising young nieces. She had always loved animals and was studying design in college. It was a gorgeous map of the park. She had minded the color palette and consulted with the printer on specs and formatting. But, somehow, the difference between zebras and lions had escaped her novice design skills. She had switched the two species’ habitats.

The massive beast leapt from ten feet behind its prey and landed with its forepaws on Austin’s back. Collapsing the man beneath its tremendous weight, the hunter locked into the man’s shoulders and extended its rear claws. The lion began to work its massive legs, stripping flesh and muscle from the bone.

The screams reached Sanchez’s ears just as he came across his teammate. He had not seen the predator strike and, despite what contempt he held for Austin, he pitied the man. The gun jumped in his hand as he fired quick bursts at the cat.

The first burst was an attempt to scare the creature off, but it did not deter the giant cat. As the monster’s reflective eyes narrowed, Sanchez pulled the trigger. Over and over the bullets barked from the barrel. All training had left him, and he continued to pull the trigger well after the gun was empty and long after the lion was dead.

When it finally processed in his mind that the beast was no longer a threat, Sanchez rushed to Austin’s side. The back of his ribs, broken and bent, was visible through the nylon vest. Pieces of him were strewn as far as fifteen feet away. He continued to scream and sob. Gasping with torn lungs, “help me,” wheezed from his broken mouth.

Sanchez reloaded his weapon and helped him the only way he knew he could.

# # #

The sand was still warm from the heat of the day and it cushioned Steve’s landing on the beach.

Paul fired. The slide of the XD locked open. It had been the final shot, but it had been enough. The shot struck Savage in the shoulder. The slug dug into the flesh of the security chief’s right arm.

Rick Savage was stunned. He screamed. Despite the lead in his arm he raised the gun to fire.

The report from Steve’s shotgun made a mockery of Paul’s .45. The solid slug struck Rick Savage square in the chest and took him off of his feet.

His head crashed against a rock that had been harvested, shipped and strategically placed on the shore of the man-made island, for aesthetic purposes only. Richard Savage lay motionless in the sand.

Steve jumped back to his feet, “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“You put a gun in my back!”

“I had to let you know that I was going to shoot.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I couldn’t exactly whisper it to you.”

“Warn me next time.”

“How?”

“Just…”

“Fine! Next time we’re on a island paradise and some psycho with a glowing forehead has a gun on you, and I’m going to shoot him, but you’re in the way, I’ll ask you nicely to duck so you don’t get hit by the bullet that’s going to save your life!”

Steve stared at his friend for only a moment, “It’s not easy being your friend.”

“Yeah, but it’s so worth it.”

Steve pointed the game warden’s shotgun at the lifeless figure. “Grab his gun.”

Paul scrambled to his side and examined the man.

“It worked though. He’s done. Look.” Paul raised Savage’s arm and released it. It fell limp to the man’s side. He did it again and again.

“Knock it off. There are still more of them coming.”

Paul left the body and walked back down to the dock. He checked the gun and found that the ammo did not match his.

He tucked the XD back inside the concealed holster and Savage’s H&K USP inside his waistband. Steve slung the shotgun over his shoulder.

“Why do you think he tried to kill us?” Paul asked.

“We can figure that out later. Ready for another swim?”

“Ready.”

Steve ran across the beach, dove into the warm water, and kicked to surface.

Paul ran across the beach and prepared to dive in when the USP fell from his waist. It hit the ground in front of his foot and was stuck into the surf.

“Hold on,” Paul scrambled into the shallow water and peered in the surf. “Just a second.” He felt around in the sand. Steve tread water while he waited for his friend.

“I think I’ve got it.” He pulled his hand from the water. “Nope, that’s a rock, shit.”

After a few more rocks and a lot more swearing Paul found the gun. He rushed into the water and swam with the gun in his hand.

The two friends began the one hundred and fifty-yard swim to the neighboring island, praying that they would finally find a boat.

# # #

Brittany had finally stopped sobbing. After being in the room for an hour, it was becoming clear that they were in no immediate danger. They had received no orders, no threats. The men clad in black had said nothing.

Katherine sat with Brittany. Vinnie had refused the subtle suggestions that he leave. He was a question in her mind. While she tried to imagine the faces behind the masks, why this was happening, what could the terrorists want, her thoughts always came back to who this man, Carlito, really was.

It had occurred to her that she could simply ask him – call his bluff. But she hesitated, worried. Was he a part of the group that now held them hostage, planted in the group to quash attempts to call for help? Was he a competitor of Bennett’s? Or was he simply a dumb reporter trying to get a scoop on the true story of the islands, a few snapshots of the rich and powerful in Speedos and bikinis?

She wasn’t willing to take a chance just yet.

Nothing had happened since they were seated in the conference room. The guard simply stood over them with that menacing weapon. At one point another man in black had addressed him. Quietly. Whispering.

Katherine had strained to hear. Even a language would give her some clue as to who they may be. But the words were hushed and mumbled behind distance and fabric.

When her focus on Carlito’s purpose did ease, she found herself worrying about Steve and Paul. She had seen them leave with Savage, and no matter what she thought of the security chief as a person, she knew that he was more than capable with a gun.

Yes, they would be fine. The other hostages were in more danger. If she was right, everyone in the other group was a major stakeholder in the island chain. Which meant they were rich, and would no doubt be ransomed or threatened into parting with some sort of valuable information or industry secrets. She wondered where they had been taken and how they were being treated.

# # #

Steve dragged himself onto the shore; Paul was close behind him. Both were exhausted. Never one for exercise, sports, or doing stuff, Steve’s physical fitness routine consisted of an occasional hike or canoe trip. Even then, the canoe trip was more about drinking than paddling.

Paul didn’t fare much better. No friend of the treadmill, he preferred exercising his elbow to breaking a sweat. They looked at each other, and it was clear that they would have to find a place to hold up and rest. There was little doubt to the two of them that they had left a clear trail. The other islands bordering the reserve weren’t within swimming distance and sand did little to hide their footprints.