Dead Man's Land

by Jack Patterson

  Then the man pulled his gun out.

  “All three of you over there,” the man said.

  Cal raised his hands and shuffled with Kelly toward Prado. “Do you know this guy?” he asked.

  Prado nodded. “Works for my uncle. His name is Javier Acosta.” Then loudly, “He’s a real asshole.”

  Acosta puffed his chest out. “What did you think, Prado? You were just going to steal your Uncle Ramon’s money and disappear off this island without any consequences? If there’s one thing you should know by now it’s that there are always consequences.”

  He clicked the safety off his gun and continued. “Now, which one of you three wants a bullet first?”

  They all stood there silent.

  Acosta’s eyes narrowed. “I said, ‘Which one of you three wants a bullet first?’ Or do you want me to decide on my own?”

  Cal raised his hand. “I’ll go first.”

  “No!” Kelly protested. “Cal, get back here. Don’t let him do this to you.” She turned toward the man. “Surely we can work this out. Do you want money?”

  Acosta laughed. “Oh, I always like money. Why don’t you give it to me and then I’ll shoot you?”

  “Go to hell,” Cal sneered.

  “Or I could shoot your wife first—or maybe I’ll just slit her throat,” Acosta said as he brandished a knife from his pocket. “So, are we all in agreement? Money first, then murder?”

  Before anyone could answer, Acosta tumbled to the ground, hit at a good pace by another man. Cal picked up Acosta’s gun and knife. The man jerked up Acosta and started to beat him senseless. In less than a minute, Acosta was bloodied and bruised, unable to stand. He collapsed to the ground and passed out. The man took the weapons from Cal, shoving the gun into the back of his pants and sliding the knife into his pocket.

  When the action slowed and the man spun around, Prado gasped—as did Cal.

  “Who is that?” Kelly asked.

  “Hello,” the man said. “I’m Angel Torres, your captain for tonight’s voyage.”

  Prado took a step back. “No way am I getting on a boat with him.”

  Torres held both his hands up. “I understand how you must feel. But can’t we let bygones be bygones here? I won’t be taking you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

  Before Prado could answer, Ortega jogged up with another man.

  “Guerrero?” Prado said as he looked at the other man.

  “You know each other?” Torres said. “This could be a reunion cruise.”

  Pablo Guerrero nodded. “We played on the Grapefruit Cutters together.”

  Torres clapped. “Perfect. Now, let’s get out of here before the police descend upon this place.”

  As they all started to follow Torres down the dock, two cars roared toward them with their sirens echoing through the night air.

  “Vámonos. Let’s move,” Torres said, breaking into a sprint.

  Ortega started to untie one of the ropes and instructed Cal on how to untie the front. Torres fired up the engine.

  “Everyone, hold on,” he said.

  Several officers stormed down the dock after them. Gunshots rained down on the boat as it sped away.

  Torres grabbed his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” Cal asked.

  Torres nodded. “I’m fine,” he said, still clutching his arm.

  Cal tried to get a closer look at his arm before he gasped. “You’ve been shot. Let me help you.”

  “Go down in the cabin below. I’m all right.”

  Cal watched Torres grimace while guiding the boat away from the island. He looked back toward the island and saw several boats with large searchlights aimed in their direction roar toward them.

  Their escape had only begun.

  CHAPTER 42

  WALLER NURSED A CUP OF COFFEE inside the ship’s galley and played poker with Hampton and a couple of crewmembers. He stared at his royal flush before he decided to call. Everyone folded as he raked the pile of chips toward him.

  He looked at the two crewmembers. “I thought you guys would’ve been better than this since you’re at sea all the time,” he said with a wry grin. “Now, Hampton’s got an excuse—he’s just plain stupid. But you two? I don’t know what your problem is?”

  Hampton opened his mouth, most likely to deliver a one-line zinger at Waller, when a crewmember stormed into the galley.

  “Agent Waller, we have some activity off the shore that might warrant some action,” he said. “Come on up and take a look.”

  Waller and Hampton hustled up the ladders and grabbed a pair of binoculars.

  “How far off the coast are we?”

  “In situations like these, we like to stay at least a half mile outside of territorial waters to avoid any disputes.”

  “So, twelve and a half miles?” Waller asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Does that look like our guy?”

  “It matches the general description of the boat we were given, though it’s hard to be entirely sure.”

  Waller nodded. “Do you think we can plot a course to intercept it?”

  “We’ll do our best. They’re roughly four miles away now.”

  Waller handed the binoculars back to the crewmember. “Let’s move, then. We can’t let them escape.”

  Then he froze and handed the binoculars to Hampton.

  “Look over there. That can’t be business as usual—not even here.”

  Hampton followed Waller’s instructions, looking at the long line of tankers heading straight for Cuba.

  “It doesn’t surprise me, but someone needs to know about this.”

  CHAPTER 43

  CAL COULDN’T STAY IN THE HULL for long. Everything was happening so fast, and he felt out of control. At the mercy of two criminal outlaws who’d already broken laws in pursuit of him, Cal felt uncomfortable with the entire situation. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

  He sat next to Kelly for a few minutes, putting his arm around her and pulling her tight.

  “We’re going to make it,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  She cut her eyes toward him, her head bobbing rhythmically as the boat bounced across the waves. “I don’t even think you believe that.”

  “At this point, I’ve got to have a little faith that it will turn out all right—even if I’m having a hard time believing it will actually happen.”

  “You know my greatest fear is getting eaten alive by a shark,” she said.

  Ortega laughed. “You’ll be long dead from the effects of hypothermia—maybe twelve hours tops before you pass out and drown.”

  “Don’t you have flotation devices?” Kelly asked.

  Ortega shook his head. “Not enough for everyone on board. This boat is only certified for five passengers. We’re pushing the limits as it is. Just better hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Knock it off,” Cal said. He turned to Kelly. “Just ignore him. We’ll be fine.” He paused. “Do we have a first aid kit down here?”

  “Why?” Ortega shot back.

  “Just answer the question.”

  Ortega pointed to his bench. “It’s under here.”

  “I need it,” Cal said. “Can you help me out?”

  Ortega grunted as he stood up. He hit his head on the low ceiling and let out a string of expletives. After a few seconds of fishing around in what appeared to be a catchall storage area, he retrieved the kit and threw it at Cal.

  “Thanks,” Cal said as he headed upstairs to check on Torres.

  Up top, Torres was still clutching his arm. Cal noted the red stain on Torres’s shirt had grown considerably since he first left the deck as blood was starting drip from his elbow area.

  “Mind if I take a look at that for you—maybe even patch you up?” Cal asked.

  Torres took his hand off the wound and blood squirted out.

  “Never mind. Keep your hand tight on that. I’ll just try to wash it out and form a tourniquet fo
r you.”

  Cal went to work. He sprayed an antiseptic spray on Torres’s wound and then quickly patched him up tight with cotton balls, gauze, and an ace bandage.

  “That ought to hold you for a while,” Cal said.

  “Thanks,” Torres said.

  Cal didn’t move.

  “It’s probably safer for you below,” Torres said over the roar of the engine and the constant slapping of the water against the boat.

  “In a minute,” Cal said. “I want to know why you took Prado.”

  “The Cuban government pays well,” Torres said with a grin.

  “So well that you had to make a return visit and do it all over again?”

  Torres shrugged. “We all walk away at different times for different reasons.”

  “So a big Cuban government job didn’t pay quite as well as you hoped.”

  “Let’s just say I had a few bills to pay first.”

  “Well, you’ll be compensated once we reach land safely—I can promise you that.”

  Torres glared at him. “That wasn’t our deal. My contact said you were going to transfer the money once we reached international waters.”

  “Well, you can throw me overboard if you like, but then you won’t get a single dime—and I suspect it will slow you down to do so.” Cal looked behind them at the Cuban boats that seemed to be closing, albeit not at a rate fast enough to catch them before they exited territorial waters. “And those guys trailing us haven’t slowed down yet.”

  Torres shrugged. “I think you’ve got more to lose than I do. Once we reach international waters, you’re going to make good on our initial deal. Is that understood?”

  Cal didn’t answer him, instead returning below deck for a moment.

  A few minutes later, a bright light hit the boat and everyone lurched forward as the boat slowed.

  “Please prepare to be boarded by the U.S. Coast Guard,” boomed a voice over a loud speaker.

  Cal rushed up top with Ortega. He stared at the Coast Guard cutter blocking their way.

  “What are you doing, Torres?” Ortega asked. “Let’s blow by these guys.”

  “Do you see those guys with guns up there?” Torres said, gesturing to the half-dozen soldiers standing on the deck of the Coast Guard ship with weapons trained on them. “Do you want them shooting at us?”

  “Just get us back into Cuban territory,” Ortega said. “They won’t follow us.”

  Cal looked back toward Cuba and noticed the boats were still bearing down on their location. “And what? Go back and face those guys? Have you ever heard about Cuban prisons? They don’t have a saying like, ‘three squares and a cot’ over there.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ortega snapped. “I doubt you’d be going anywhere if the Coast Guard is allowed to board us. But we’re definitely going away for a long time.”

  Cal nodded. “Yeah, and we’d all be put away if we go back to Cuba. So, have a little mercy, will ya?”

  Torres sat there, saying nothing.

  “Come on, Torres,” Ortega said. “Hurry up and make a decision before it’s made for us.”

  “In times like these, we can’t think about screwing over someone else, Ortega. We have to think about ourselves. Do you honestly want to spend another day incarcerated in Cuba? One day in that holding cell was one day too many for me.”

  A small vessel departed from the Cutter and slowly moved toward them. Cal shielded his eyes from the spotlight, yet he wasn’t able to determine how many were coming over and how aggressive they might be.

  “What’s going on?” Kelly asked as she poked her head up out of the below-deck cabin.

  “The Coast Guard is about to board us,” Cal said. “Just keep everyone calm.”

  Guerrero started to talk loudly in Spanish, ranting about how if they made him go back his life would be over.

  Cal stuck his head below. “Tell him to remain calm,” he said, looking at Prado and pointing at Guerrero.

  Prado nodded. “What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know yet, but just stay down there and stay quiet.”

  Arms folded, Cal stood waiting for the small vessel to connect with Torres’s speedboat. After a few seconds, it did. And Cal could see for the first time how many people were on board and what their posture was.

  That’s when he noticed who it was.

  “This a matter of national security and we’re part of a joint task force with the Coast Guard,” the man said. He paused for a moment before resuming. “FBI agents Waller and Hampton request to come aboard.”

  CHAPTER 44

  TORRES’S EYES WIDENED and his nostrils flared. He reached behind his back and felt the cold metal grip of the handgun he’d lifted off the Cuban police officer. He was outgunned at the moment—but at least he wasn’t unarmed.

  “You look happy to see us again,” Hampton said as he stepped onto the boat first.

  “Save it,” Torres said. “We’re not interested in your wise cracks.”

  “But you will be interested in this,” Waller said. “This is a search warrant—and we have reason to believe that there is a person of interest aboard this vessel who is wanted by the Department of Homeland Security.”

  “And his name?” Torres asked.

  “Vicente Prado,” Waller said.

  “You mean you’re not here to arrest us?” Ortega said.

  “At the moment, we’re only interested in Prado,” Hampton said. “Now, where is he?”

  “What makes you so sure he’s on this boat?” Torres said.

  “You have a strange history with him—and we intercepted credible evidence yesterday that you would be making a smuggling run out of Cuba tonight with him aboard,” Waller said.

  Torres eyes narrowed, his gaze fixated on Cal. “How could anyone have possibly known about that?”

  “I kept it as anonymous as I could,” Cal stammered. “Your contact asked me his name. But I swear I didn’t tell him full names.”

  “It makes no difference now,” Waller said. He put his hands on his hips. “So, where is he?”

  Before anyone could answer, gunfire rang out in the distance and the sound of bullets pinging and hitting the water nearby put everyone in a mad scramble to get out of the way.

  “We can protect you,” Waller said. “All you have to do, Torres, is hand him over to us.”

  “You can protect us?” Torres said and then laughed. “You can’t even protect yourselves.”

  “What those Cuban boats are doing right now is illegal. They’ll never get away with it,” Waller said.

  “It won’t matter if we’re all dead—or rotting in a Cuban prison,” Torres said. “Will it, agent Waller?”

  Torres looked at Ortega and tried to communicate just using his eyes. Ortega nodded slightly, like he understood what Torres was trying to say. Torres held his hand down and counted to three using nothing but his fingers. When he hit ‘three,’ they both leapt toward the FBI agents. Torres took out Waller and Ortega hit Hampton. Both of the agents tumbled into the water. Torres and Ortega worked quickly to rid their boat of the temporary ropes tied to the Coast Guard vessel. It took them no more than ten seconds before Torres rushed back behind the wheel and fired up the engine.

  Cal looked at Ortega. “Think they’ll get hypothermia?” Cal asked, pointing at the men in the water.

  Ortega shrugged. “I truly don’t care—as long as we get out of here alive.”

  Cal looked back to see Waller and Hampton both bobbing in the sea, while the latter raised up his hand and made an obscene gesture.

  “This ain’t over,” Hampton screamed.

  For the moment, Cal didn’t care if a prolonged battle awaited him with these FBI agents when they returned stateside. For now, he just wanted to get back in one piece—a scenario that seemed far more likely now that they had eluded everyone who was chasing them.

  Cal turned around to see a gun being pointed at his face by Torres.

  “Now would be a good time to tra
nsfer those funds,” Torres said.

  CHAPTER 45

  CAL TOOK TORRES’S LAPTOP and started to bang on the keyboard. He disabled the computer’s connectivity so that it had no chance of connecting to the Internet. He went and stood next to Torres.

  “You see this?” Cal said, pointing at the bottom of the screen where the laptop connectivity status was. “Nothing. I can’t get on the web. You sure you’ve been on before?”

  Torres frowned and nodded. “It worked fine for me earlier.”

  “Maybe we’re too far out, but it isn’t getting a connection.”

  Torres snatched the laptop from Cal and shoved it back in his bag beneath his seat, all the while keeping one hand steady on the wheel. “You won’t get off the boat until the money is transferred.”

  Cal threw his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m not looking to stiff anyone here. Got it? I just want to make sure I get what I was promised.”

  “Which was what?”

  “A safe return back to the United States.”

  Torres chuckled. “Did you think we were going there first?”

  Cal shot him a quick glance and drew back. “We’re not? Where are we going?”

  “Mexico first. Don’t you know Cuban players can’t defect directly into the U.S. first? What kind of reporter are you anyway?”

  “I didn’t realize we were taking another player with us.”

  Torres snickered. “Convenient excuse. I’d be willing to bet this is the first time you’ve ever heard of such a rule.”

  “Wanna stake our fees on that bet?” Cal shot back.

  Torres looked ahead and didn’t say a word.

  “When we can connect to the Internet, I’ll call up a few articles where I wrote about that, if you still want to take that bet,” Cal offered.

  “Go below. I’ll let you know when we reach our destination.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “Mexico. I have some friends near Cancun who are going to help us.”

  Cal descended the steps and walked straight toward Kelly.

  “Is everything all right now?” she asked.

  Cal sat down. “We’re fine. The Cubans are still chasing us, but they’re never going to catch us. It won’t be long before they turn around.”