Medusa's Lair

by Kenneth L. Funderburk

  All three of these men were on the executive committee of the board and were thereby involved in world operations. From their lofty position, the Sinaloa cartel had a powerful investment wing. Based on Larry’s information about Chic, they met at their usual place, which was the bank’s fifty-foot fishing boat. This boat was kept strictly for the executive committee. It was equipped with a secure room where their calls and communications could not be monitored.

  Larry got Max on the speakerphone, and the meeting began. Larry repeated the information he had received from Myra.

  David, known for his personal hate for Chic, spoke first. “Guys, let’s go ahead and take Chic out. Why wait?”

  “Max, don’t we already have plans to take out Hayes and Doug in Lake Izabal?”

  “Sure do,” reported Max. “Looks like Chic is making it easy to kill several birds with one stone. Do we all agree to put him on our list?” All agreed. “Okay, men, I’ve got work to do. I’ll be in touch.”

  The meeting adjourned to Miller time. “So, Larry, how do you handle Myra? I didn’t think you were man enough to handle that firebrand.”

  “Hell, David, I do a better job than you do with Doll. At least Myra’s not sweet on Chic.”

  David, known for his temper, flashed red in the face and made a hostile move toward Larry.

  “Okay, kids, cool it.” Gilman separated the men long enough to cool down the situation.

  “Look, guys, that damn Chic has made a religious nutcase out of Doll. And she has closed her legs to me. Hell, I think they’ve been carrying on since college.” David clearly had lost his control.

  “That’s a hell of a note, David.” Gilman put his arm around David and said, “Look, if Max fails to kill Chic, he’s yours. Take him out any way you want.”

  “Thanks, Gilman.”

  Chapter

  11

  Chic gazed out the window of the puddle hopper as it banked left over Belize City. Soon, the urban sprawl gave way to the pristine and expansive jungles that were once home to the Mayan. He wondered what it would be like to get lost down there, to be all alone with the zillions of biting insects, cockroaches the size of small dogs, and all kinds of nasty snakes. He felt a shiver run through him, and he tried to think of something else. He’d be at Lake Izabal in no time, where he’d stake out the yacht. His friend Heath had set him up with some powerful unidirectional receivers that could pick up conversations from four hundred yards. Heath had also set him up with Danny, who was seated next to him. Danny was a detective and might come in handy in case things went sideways. Danny was from Honduras, and he would feel right at home in a Spanish-speaking country.

  Heath lined up the necessary permission for Danny to go with Chic to Belize and then onto Fronteras. Chic and Danny arrived in Livingston without incident. They picked up a twenty-eight-foot fishing boat designed for use in local waters. The draft was shallow enough to cross the sandbar without using a tipping procedure. They were dressed for the part. Danny was the guide. Chic was the fisherman looking for a local fishing experience.

  They checked out the boat and supplies prepared for them by Danny’s cousin, a local who grew up within fifty miles of this spot. Heath made the arrangements, including the sidearms they needed. It was too late to leave Livingston, so they spent Friday night there. Early Saturday morning, they headed up river to Fronteras, which would be their base for operations. They arrived at the Portugal Hotel and Marina just before dusk.

  The hotel was very nice. It was like something out of an old Tarzan movie—big deck on the water connected to the bar, all open to Mother Nature. The food was excellent, especially the seafood. Service was with a smile. The water view, the jungle, and the big tropical flowers were everywhere. This natural beauty was, in Chic’s eyes, a gift from God. Such beauty should not be defiled by the dark nature of his task at hand.

  Chic and Danny sat on the open deck sipping one of those marvelous rum drinks so popular in the Caribbean. They remained silent as they watched the setting sun clothe everything in that special shade of pink only seen in the tropics.

  Chic had never watched the sunset like this without a certain sadness. The world had experienced a glorious sunrise, and he had experienced a busy day on the river that unfolded in one beautiful scene after another. But now the day was dying, leaving a sadness in his soul at the gradual loss of light. Chic always wondered how he managed to feel such joy and sadness at the same time. As soon as the sun withdrew its unmatched colors of sundown, night appeared and lifted the shroud of sadness briefly. The transformation washed the night in the mystery that the stars and deep darkness bestowed.

  What could he say? The transition from light to dark had made him sad since he was a child. At sea or on the water at sunset, a shot of cognac soothed the melancholy within his soul. Chic was not a drinking man, but he did make this one exception. In his training as practicing clinical psychologist, Chic had studied these particular reactions as well as other quirks in his own personality. He first noticed this reaction on road trips with his family. He discovered he just didn’t like sunset. He had no problem with nighttime, but it was the transition to darkness that plucked on his psyche.

  On Friday, Chic and Danny sat on the beach in Livingston silently observing the heavens tell the glory of God. Observing the heavens was one of Chic’s favorite activities at night.

  Meanwhile, Captain Hayes and Doug were making plans to go see a little cockfighting in El Estor. The captain didn’t like anyone getting too close to the yacht, so they anchored Angel three miles south of the small village in the northwest corner of Lake Izabal, taking the dinghy to shore. They had received instructions to stay on board and not to venture into Fronteras, but the captain didn’t see any real harm in going ashore to El Estor.

  The first mate, Roberto, was a competent sailor and could handle Angel if any problems developed. Doug, who acted as a second in command on the Amedee, was not qualified as chief master. On Angel, he was the second engineer. It was the first mate who suggested the captain needed a little diversion. It was he who said the local ladies were very interesting. The hook had been baited, and the captain bit. Who could blame him?

  The hard-bottomed Zodiac complemented the forty-meter yacht. El Estor hardly deserved anything like this. Doug was at the helm and did a fine job of pulling the craft up on the beach. He finished the job by attaching a heavy chain through the motor mounts, through the helm, and finally through an eyelet on the bow of the dinghy. He looped the chain to a secure stanchion and doubled back to another eyelet on the Zodiac. He removed a few critical breakers, which rendered the motor inoperable.

  “Good job, Doug,” said Hayes.

  “Captain,” said Doug, “you really think this town is big enough to have a whorehouse?”

  “Don’t you worry, Doug. Every town here has a church, a whorehouse, and somebody selling some drug or something that will blow your mind.”

  “Where’s the cockfighting arena?” asked Doug.

  “It’s not far from here. It’s a metal building behind the soccer field. When we get back tonight, we’ll need to pull anchor and relocate. We don’t want to give the thieves around here any bright ideas. We look like an inviting target.”

  “Captain, we’ve got some boys on board that would love nothing better than a little gunplay,” said Doug. “They’re sitting on the dock right now just looking for an opportunity to engage in a little target shooting.”

  “Good thought,” Hayes replied. “Remind me to get them on the radio before we head back out tonight. If they get too drunk, we might be the target.”

  Doug and the captain stopped at a cantina across the street from the cockfighting arena, had a couple of drinks, and gathered a little local information. It was a rough bunch of local thugs, drinking, cursing, and playing a special brand of checkers that the natives loved.

  Captain Hayes had learned better than to
think he could beat the locals at checkers. It seemed like every town had its own version of checkers, and it became more fluid as the game progressed. They particularly loved to take a gringo’s money for a spin. Playing against a stacked deck would only be charity.

  The captain hung around long enough to find out the local rules of the cockfight. There were always special circumstances and special people that required special attention. You could bet your last dollar that screwing the gringo was the high spot of these cockfights.

  It didn’t take long to get into the spirit of the game. Doug lost $150, and the captain won $225. Not bad to make that much off those broke half-assed thugs.

  The best thing to come out of the cockfight, other than some local brew, was information on the best whorehouse in town. The captain was concerned that the locals suggested a different house than was recommended by the first mate. After talking to several locals, the captain was convinced the first mate had given him bad advice. A couple of the top dudes were headed to the choice spot, so all the captain had to do was follow. If the place was good enough for these boys, it was good enough for him.

  The house turned out to be a rundown old place, but the sheets were clean. More importantly, the girls were young, pretty, and willing. The captain cracked a little smile at the wisdom of this little side trip to heaven.

  He caught the eye of a lovely young thing who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She could rival his sweetie on the ship. Maybe, he thought, he could talk her into coming back with them on the boat. She could entertain the whole crew.

  The captain and Doug managed to raise hell until about two in the morning. At that point, they had expended all of the energy they possessed. Doug was a little pissed when the captain tapped him on the shoulder in the middle of a passionate embrace. He reminded him that he had to handle the dinghy going back to the boat.

  “Get your pants on, you stupid shit,” bellowed the captain. “Go on down to the dock and check on the boat, check in with the first mate, and come back and let me know when we’re ready to leave. As captain, I’m entitled to one last shot at that sweet little thing.”

  “Crap,” Doug grumbled under his breath. “I get all the shit jobs.”

  When he leaned over to pull up his pants, he fell forward, hitting his head on the wall. He realized he was almost too shitfaced to handle the Zodiac. Doug stumbled out of the door, hoping he had enough strength left to push the dinghy back into the water.

  Doug managed to get to the Zodiac, pull in the chain, and replace the breakers. He got the boat into the water and reattached the chain to make sure the vessel didn’t float off. Doug decided that, even drunk, he was a better sailor than were most men. The captain was lucky to have him.

  He did not see two men who were hiding behind a dark shed, silently watching every move he was making. Jose and Miguel had been dropped off earlier in the night about a mile up the beach, so they could work their way into position. They planned carefully to complete the task in a way that would never be discovered. There would be no trace of two human bodies after this night. These men were not concerned with the loss to this world, nor the character of two human souls, if in fact the soul existed.

  They had been stationed in another town waiting for the call that would let them know when the captain and Doug left Angel. Plans had already been made for the place where the bodies would be buried. They would complete the job, return the Zodiac to the ship, and then disembark at Livingston.

  They lay patiently in wait for the captain and Doug to stagger toward the Zodiac. The targets sounded like two demons who had just escaped from hell. They waited until both men were in the Zodiac and the motor started. At that moment, Miguel got himself and Jose into position. Two seven-millimeter hollow-point bullets fired from two silenced rifles pierced Doug and the captain in their heads. Death was instant. The shooters were pleased they had dropped both men in the boat, certainly saving a lot of effort. It was going to be hard enough to move them from the boat to their final resting place.

  Miguel and Jose walked to the Zodiac, shoved it into the water, and headed into the night. Miguel directed Jose to take the helm, and he would direct them to a secret cove on the opposite side of the lake where preparations had been made for the bodies. It took a lot of effort to haul the dead men out of the Zodiac and drag the cadavers fifty feet into the deep grave they had prepared earlier. They extracted the gold-capped teeth with the usual method, using a heavy metal hammer. Their money, gold necklaces, and rings were confiscated; all metal was removed. Then acid was poured onto the bodies and allowed to do its magic. When the two men were satisfied that the bodies were essentially destroyed, they covered the bodies with lye, and the grave was covered. Thick vegetation was carefully laid out over the area.

  The two bodies had been stripped of all possible identification. Their clothes and billfolds were burned. When they left in the Zodiac, this part of the jungle looked as though it had been untouched by human hands. They tossed the stripped teeth into the water as they navigated the Zodiac to the yacht. As soon as they arrived at Angel, her anchor was lifted, and she headed toward the Gulf of Mexico. The first mate of Angel, Roberto, was now the captain. The situation at Lake Izabal was completed, or so they thought.

  The first mate timed his speed so he would arrive at Fronteras between three thirty and four on Sunday morning. The passage of a forty-meter yacht in these waters would not go totally unnoticed, but the timing should reduce it to a minimum.

  Jose and Miguel arrived at Angel expecting to leave the area but instead were instructed to leave the dinghy tied up. They were directed to Captain Roberto’s quarters. “Gentlemen, I have received orders that you are to remain here and take out two guys who are investigating us. Here’s a copy of their recent photographs. They are in Fronteras, so you should have no problem finding them. When you finish the job, we’ll make arrangements to pick you up.” After a general discussion, the men were sent back to the dinghy. They were not happy, but they knew complaints were dangerous.

  Chic and Danny had no illusion this was going to be easy. They did expect, however, to be able to locate a rather large yacht in the area of Lake Izabal. A yacht this size would have to be specifically designed to get over the sandbar at the mouth of the river. The yacht would be a real novelty and a topic of conversation among locals.

  Chic and Danny sat in the restaurant taking in an excellent view of the river, bridge, and local marina in the way law enforcement officers would. It was that general demeanor that alerted the cockroaches of the world that someone was an immediate and present danger to them. To the professional crook, a lawman, in or out of uniform, reeked of danger. Some egotistical officers believed this was the very aura that attracted women.

  “How do you like the pancakes with bananas?” Danny asked at breakfast. “They are my favorite food in this world.”

  “Danny, I have to admit that I thought you were nuts when you suggested this, but they’re marvelous,” was the reply.

  “The small bananas are outstanding, and they are 100 percent better down here where they’re fresh and ripen on the trees. I’ve never found them to be this good in the States. You’ll find that you have to come down here to get the really good stuff. Before we leave, we’ll get some fruit like you’ve never tasted,” Danny said.

  “Chic, do you have a plan on how we should proceed this morning?”

  “My plan is called basic snooping,” said Chic. They managed to get a couple of steps before one of the local sleazebags approached them with a deal. The man had wet slick hair, big teeth, and a crooked smile. He began his pitch with a great deal on a Rolex watch. That didn’t work, so he tried girls. Next he moved on to a selection of drugs. Chic finally took the man by the arm, took him a little bit to the side, and told him that they were narcs and if he did not shut up and get out of there, they were going to arrest him. The sleazebag disappeared quickly.

&
nbsp; After ridding themselves of Slick, they managed to get to the manager of the hotel, who directed them to the unofficial harbor master in the area. This man had no official legal authority, but the harbor masters generally set the rules in the marina communities around the Caribbean. The hotel manager proved to be a rather observant kind of guy. He kept a close eye on the water traffic. It was part of his duties, he said, to operate the wet slips at the hotel. He was well aware of the large yacht and identified it as the Angel. He also noted that there was a corporate name and trademark on the yacht, but he was unable to provide specific information. As Chic expected, he was impressed with the big boat. It was the largest one the hotel manager recalled ever coming through Fronteras. He heard it had some kind of special flotation device that raised the boat high enough out of the water to cross the sandbar. He had not seen it in a couple of months. He had heard it was anchored somewhere in Lake Izabal, but he did not know where.

  The harbor master was located about three blocks from the hotel. Chic had already found out that the harbor master’s name was George, along with unsolicited information about what kind of an ass he could be. Fortunately, Danny and Chic didn’t need anything official from George. This was a social visit, more or less.

  Danny took the lead and introduced himself to the young lady who appeared to be George’s secretary. They were invited to take a seat. George was sitting back in his chair, tilted to the maximum angle. His feet were on the desk, coffee and doughnut in his hands. His desk was in disarray. With all his power in this very small place, his general appearance was sloppy. His cowboy boots looked like they had never been polished. He was in a uniform that had not been pressed. The harbor master took a couple of calls while they waited for him to acknowledge their presence. He was irritated that he had to put down his coffee cup to speak on the phone. George eventually looked in the direction of Danny and Chic, lowered his feet from the desk, adjusted his baseball cap, and barked in their direction.