Medusa's Lair

by Kenneth L. Funderburk

  The approaching RHIB was spotted a hundred yards out. Conditions were incredibly bad. The night goggles and their protection from the wind and waves gave Heaven’s forces a slight advantage against the invaders from the water. Chief couldn’t believe his luck; one boat with maybe six men on this suicide mission, headed straight to hell against Heaven’s defenders. It became apparent that Zeta was beyond pissed about this territorial violation by Sinaloa. The plan was obviously to pull off this attack on land, but they were forced to retaliate by sea. Zeta was sacrificing six men out of pure spite.

  The RHIB headed toward the port quarter of Heaven where they would attempt to board the ladder. As soon as the last man from the RHIB secured his position on the ladder, Chief ordered his men to open fire.

  The assault team was completely exposed on the ladder and unable to return effective fire. Ten men with AK-47s ripped bullets across the invaders essentially trapped on the boarding ladder. It was over in fifteen seconds. The next volley of shots from Heaven sank the RHIB. By the time the firing stopped, the six attackers were floating away on the angry waves. The only injury to the defending crew was one man, wounded in the thigh by a deflected bullet.

  Chief was a trained mercenary. He still felt the slight pang of loss for six good men for no good reason. They died to assuage the ire of brain-dead mobsters. It came as no comfort to Chief that his handlers would do the same, just as easily, if it served their purpose.

  While Chief was not a reflective man and he rarely looked fate in the eye, he found he could not control the darkness that gripped his soul at that moment. He had become Satan’s angel in that moment. There was no escape. There was no hope. The darkness of his soul was impenetrable.

  Captain Corley sipped his dark roast coffee as he pondered his predicament.

  “What the hell, Frank? Here we are, honest seamen, just trying to make a living, and we find ourselves in the middle of a drug war. We don’t have control over our own crew, even if we considered them ‘our’ crew. It looks like we survived this fight, but now you and I are legally responsible for the illegal cargo that may be aboard. You and I will be the ones that go to jail if we get caught.”

  “Captain,” said Frank, “I hate to tell you this, but being captured by the authorities might be the lesser of the evils. The Zeta know the name of our ship. They can easily find out our destination. Zeta could turn us in, attack again with more force at sea, or wait until we arrive in port to attack us. We also may be sacrificial goats. Chief can take his men off the boat on some prearranged plan and leave us for arrest or another assault. We know little or nothing, except that we’re in possession of drugs. I’ve heard that the cartels sacrifice the occasional shipment to appease the DEA. We’re set up as the goat pretty well.”

  “Gee,” said Corley, “thanks for reminding me that we may be the bull’s-eye for a lot of crazy crooks. We have to report this to the home office. Hell, we’re at their mercy. Not a place I like to be.”

  “Too bad we aren’t politicians,” Frank replied. “They can always blame someone else for their own stupidity. You and I … we got no place to hide.”

  Corley picked up the encrypted mobile satellite phone to call headquarters in Belize City. When he finally made contact, he reported the event in detail. The supervisor listened without comment, and after several eternal minutes of no exchange, he put the captain on hold. Twenty minutes passed before another voice, a voice Corley did not recognize, broke the silence.

  “Captain Corley,” the voice said, “we have received an update on the storm, indicating that it is moving northwesterly toward Corpus Christi. You should have an opening southeast, so we are directing you to continue in the Florida Straits on past Key West and make way to Jamaica. We can take on more cargo and reroute you at that time. You are instructed not to report the attempted hijacking to the coast guard.”

  In a vain attempt to cover his ass, the captain asked the unknown voice, “What is my cargo, and is this crew going to remain on board?”

  “Captain, don’t waste my time,” was the reply. “You have the manifest; the crew is under your command. I should not need to remind you of a captain’s duties and responsibilities.”

  The captain broke contact and returned to the task of navigation.

  “Based on my calculations, Frank, we should be in gale-force conditions around midday tomorrow. As we make our turn easterly, we’ll be hitting the Gulf Stream, which is always rough. From there we should have smooth sailing to Jamaica. Besides, I’m getting hungry, and that’s a sure sign things are improving!”

  Nathan was satisfied that the cargo ship could handle the storm unless some problem developed with the rudder or with the engines. With any such malfunctions, they would end up on Campeche Bank in a serious situation.

  The reefer cargo ship was a dual prop, approximately 250 feet long by 40 feet in width, tonnage 1416, and could make a speed of thirteen knots. The ship could easily handle the crew of twenty-two and the eleven guards. While the ship was sound, it was terrible seamanship to take on a storm just for the hell of it. The original instructions by headquarters would have them sailing thirty degrees north until they were around the Yucatan Peninsula, north of Cancun, Mexico. From there he would turn easterly toward Key West. Depending on the track of the storm, it would appear at that point that they would be heading directly into the right wall of the hurricane, which was the strongest quadrant. The new instructions, along with the track of the hurricane turning in the direction of Corpus Christi, would make things easier.

  Chapter

  3

  The call from Captain Corley to the home office in Belize was transferred via encrypted telephone and secured mobile devices to the yacht, Angel, which was anchored in Lake Izabal. The chief of Sinaloa operations, Salvador Vargas, and “Number One” in Boston, Gilman Loeb, received the call. Real names were never used on the yacht or in Belize. Gilman was known as Sam, and Salvador was known as Max.

  The primary reason for their meeting was to supervise the activities of Heaven in a critical experiment, testing their ability to ship a product out of Veracruz. The other reason was a restructuring of operations after losing Ken. Changes had to be made. New adaptations were also required for a new banking center in Belize. Policy demanded this kind of critical business be conducted face-to-face.

  The storm developing in the gulf had no impact on the weather at Lake Izabal or Fronteras, a frontier town located at the intersection of the only road leading south out of Cancun, Mexico. There was a bridge crossing the lake where Fronteras was located. Fronteras was one of those places where every shop owner kept a shotgun close at hand. The people in town were friendly, but the criminal element was ever present. The price of everything was cheap, the water was beautifully clear, and more than anything, it was easy to hide from prying eyes on Lake Izabal.

  The lake also provided a good hurricane hole. It functioned as a yachting safety net when the forces of rain and 80 mph winds made landfall from the gulf impossible. The “hole” was surrounded by strong trees, and the water was deep, but navigation to the shoreline was quick and merciful. If survival meant disembarking, Fronteras accommodated.

  The difficulty getting into Lago de Izabal by any large vessel was the bar at the entrance to Amatique Bay, which was only five feet six inches at high tide. Echeneis commissioned Curvelle Yachts to customize Angel with a flotation device that would raise the forty-meter craft to a five-feet draft, allowing her to cross the bar. That way, she could avail herself to the benefits of Lake Izabal.

  The craft’s design was based on a modified racing catamaran hull with two shallow chines. The design had been carefully tested to strike the proper balance for maximum speed, shallow draft, and stability. The draft could be raised with an inflatable device mounted on the hull area between the chines. Unengaged, the inflatable device didn’t create a negative drag on the hull speed.

  The Bay o
f Ascension in the Yucatan permitted a protected environment, though not as well as Lake Izabal. Captain Bart Hayes, Ken Renfro’s former captain, took Angel’s helm after they killed Ken. Hayes likes the security and benefits of both the Bay of Ascension and Lake Izabal. He knew he couldn’t actually hide a forty-meter yacht, but he subscribed to the theory that if a tree falls in the forest when there is no human to hear it, then it does not make a sound. If no one was allowed to see the boat, the boat did not exist.

  Hayes had an adequate crew designed to keep the bosses happy, and if he needed more help for those special occasions, it was available. The home office in Belize was fully committed to the flagship guest.

  While Sam and Max conducted business, Captain Bart smoked his Cuban cigar on the aft deck, counting his lucky stars. It was as if the world were stuck in a prehistoric time, he thought. He looked at the pristine jungle and in his mind envisioned a pterodactyl flying out of the dark mass of trees and swooping up a native fisherman for a morning snack. Bart was adding a few people to the imaginary breakfast menu when he was interrupted by Sam and Max. They, too, were after a smoke.

  “Can we join you, Captain?” asked Sam.

  “Absolutely, boss,” the captain replied.

  As Sam and Max lit their cigars, a beautiful native girl slowly rounded the aft of Angel in her dugout canoe. Sam choked on his first draw. Bare-breasted, golden skin, with a big smile, she captured their attention as a true gift from the gods. This exquisite creature fixed her eyes on each man, blessing them one by one with a coy wink. Their libidos were pinged into a state of unison bliss.

  “Get your brains out of your pants, Max. We got work to do.”

  Sam had broken the spell.

  “Yeah, I hear you talking,” was the reply, “as if you’re too old to appreciate that gift from heaven. That’s the kind of woman that makes the world go around.”

  “Well, I have to agree with you on that, Max. A girl like that can lead a man to hell and back.”

  Captain Bart had to turn away to hide his smile. He didn’t want them to know she was one of his regulars. She was a gift from god in more ways than these guys could possibly imagine.

  Captain Bart didn’t envy Sam and Max. He did not know their real names or where they fit into the company that employed them. He could, however, sense their power. It radiated from them like the smell of garlic. People who exercise the power of life and death over others are forever changed in ways he could not express. He had been there. He knew the signs. He had seen it. Sam and Max bore the mark of evil, as did the captain himself. He was confident that these two had given him the order to feed Ken Renfro to the fish. Captain Bart had no regrets, despite the fact that he liked Ken. Such was life.

  Captain Bart had to admit to himself that Ken was a much nicer guy than either of these guys. The decision about who lived and who died was not his to make. That job was solely the responsibility of his bosses. His job was to carry out orders. All of their commands might bear the mark of the devil, but Hayes was happy it was not his burden to decide who lived and who died in the operations.

  The captain’s mother may have taught him that the road to heaven is narrow and there are few who find it, but the road to hell is a well-traveled and often crowded highway. If so, it was a lesson long forgotten.

  Having released himself from liability, his cigar began to taste a little better. He sat down in a deck chair, closed his eyes, and reminded himself, I have a plumb job. I have a great boat over which I am the lord and master. All I have to do is keep this yacht shipshape, keep the crew in line, keep everyone’s mouth shut, and keep the bosses happy the few times they actually show up. From time to time, I may be called upon to take lethal action. That’s just part of the job. So what?

  Sam and Max finished their cigars and headed back inside to finish their business. They had been at it for several hours. The captain liked that. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought. With the bosses back inside, he was alone to ponder his favorite subject, the local native women. Perhaps, at the dawn of time, all women were like these women of Lake Izabal: beautiful, open, and uninhibited about sex. Maybe that was what the gods had intended. Maybe the gods had meant sex to be that way.

  The girl in the canoe had an equally beautiful sister, Lola, who worked in his kitchen. Sometimes he would have sex with both of them at the same time. The thought was almost more than Captain Bart could process. These native girls loved to have white babies. The women had developed their own cues and sequences. When one of them would become pregnant, she would step aside, and the next girl in line would step up to take care of the captain’s needs.

  Captain Bart was not a religious man. As he pondered life, he was surprised when he received an epiphany. Perhaps he was proof that God allows the sun to shine on the good and bad alike. The sun shined on him, so thanks.

  Captain Bart leaned back in his deck chair and took another long drag on his cigar. He thought about Sam and Max and couldn’t help but smile. He knew they liked each other, contrary to the case with other people in the same filthy business. The norm was that guys like Sam and Max usually ended up killing each other, not making nice-nice. Whatever, Captain Bart didn’t care. In fact, he was happy these two idiots played well together in the proverbial sandbox.

  Max and Sam could pass as cousins. Sam was a wiry five feet ten and weighed in about 170 pounds. Max was five feet nine and 180 pounds. Their skin was olive; their hair was coal-black. To the average eye, both men could operate in their business without attracting too much attention. Their mannerisms were refined. Although fluent in English, Max sounded foreign in his speech. Sam’s accent was more pronounced. Neither man was too flashy or too loud, and both were capable of fitting in any business group, church, or high-society function. These abilities were valuable talents in the high levels of criminal activity. Captain Bart decided that neither man looked like the dangerous crooks they actually were.

  After enjoying their cigars and another look at a fine set of tits, the men were refreshed as they retreated to the conference room. At this point, they were alone with their charts and iPads, and Captain Bart was happily alone on the deck.

  Sam settled himself into his comfortable chair, sipped his cognac, and looked over at Max. “Now that we have Heaven sailing safely to Jamaica, what’s your opinion, Max, on our ability to use Veracruz as a transfer point in our drug operation?”

  “Sam, I think we proved that our crew can handle the Zeta. Veracruz is big enough to handle both our operations. We didn’t attack their operation, and they should be able to live with the fact we are only using Veracruz as a transfer point. In the future, none of us will be able to exclude other gangs from an entire section of Mexico or the U.S. We have to develop a live-and-let-live policy.”

  “I agree,” said Sam. “As you know, we have not had a history of cooperation here in Mexico, but hopefully we can make a little progress on that.”

  “Not to change the subject, Sam, we still must decide what we are going to do with Captain Corley and Frank Parsons. They know nothing of our real business. Of course they know we bought fish for practically nothing, and now they suspect we’re transporting drugs. They will have to become part of the team or be eliminated.”

  Sam ran his hand through his hair. “On our next shipment, Max, we bring them into our confidence. If they cooperate fully, we will keep them on. If not, your boys can deal with them as usual. In the meantime, have our security keep a close watch on them.”

  “That’s a good plan, Sam.” Max followed by letting Sam know that Ken had been replaced by Larry Alexander and Ken Upshaw in directing the Belize banking operations.

  “Too bad Ken had to go,” remarked Sam. “On the other hand, it looks like Larry and Ron have a greater ability to manage the various tentacles of our foreign operations without unnecessary documentation.”

  Sam continued his review of the international headqu
arters that moved to Belize and noted that it would be much easier for the syndicate to profit from the crumbs scraped off the legal operation by the use of their friendly bank. Max concluded that Sam’s plan was good. Sam noted that they would continue the US operations and help oversee the Belize operation, and Sam would continue to handle the enforcement operations.

  “There is one item of unfinished business, Sam. What are we going to do about Chic Sparks?”

  “You mean that choir boy psychologist? Hell, we need to kill his ass.”

  “Fine. We’ll take care of it,” snarled Max, his evil eyes flashing.

  The remainder of their time was directed toward their primary reason for the joint venture: direction of some of the profits into each of the accounts of principal members in Boston and Mexico. The primary method was to direct funds into bearer bonds, physical possession of gold, diamonds, precious metals, and liquid assets that could be quickly converted to cash. If they could take ownership of a company where the real party in interest could be hidden, they would occasionally make such an investment.

  A full accounting on a regular basis was necessary to make certain that each member was allotted the same amount of assets. Once assets were turned over to the member, the responsibility then was theirs alone. No records were kept that would allow any investigation to discover who got what asset. This function was always handled personally by Sam and Max in their face-to-face meetings. Their power in this regard was final. Their word was law.

  Once the individual members were given their share, the syndicate provided a secure safe located in a secure room located beneath the bank in Belize. Each man had a secure ten-by-twenty safe within the hardened room. Only the members had access to the hardened room through a hidden access room located in an adjoining building.