The Target

by Roger Weston

  Why weren’t they shooting? he wondered. Were they planning to take him hostage, or were they unsure of his location in the snow?

  The motors revved and the boat resumed its course to the northwest. Jake couldn’t see if they were swinging back around for another look or a better shot. He wasn’t about to peek up again and announce his location. Evidently these people could see white on white from two hundred yards when it was snowing. Or maybe they’d seen the disturbed snow but figured they were too late.

  The sound faded up the coast, so Jake looked. They’d moved on. Maybe they hadn’t seen him after all. He sat there for a while and thought about what had just happened. He hadn’t seen the gunboat for a couple of days, and now, at the exact time that he was running the zodiac, the gunboat had shown up. He recalled Rivera saying something about really bad luck, and he wondered if they could have somehow known he was out in the zodiac. Could someone have alerted them—perhaps the same person who sabotaged the ship? Could that person be working in concert with the pirates? Could there have been a coastal spotter who radioed the gunboat? Surely nobody at the station could have called out. Jake had tried the captain’s Satphone, but for some reason he couldn’t get through. All he’d gotten was static around Grytviken. He’d taken the long way around King Edward’s Point (and early in the morning) to avoid detection, but they might have spotted him.

  Jake worried about an attack on the station. He thought of Talia and the others, and he worried about their well-being.

  He searched the hills with his binoculars, but saw no sign of the sniper. The visibility was improving, too, because the last storm had died down. Unfortunately, that also meant clear sighting for snipers. Looking back now, he realized that the men on the gunboat probably hadn’t seen him. They just slowed for some other reason.

  None of this was comforting, however. Just because the men in the gunboat didn’t see him didn’t convince Jake that they didn’t know he was out in his zodiac. Maybe someone had tipped them off, or maybe not. It seemed possible that they might either set up an ambush or run the coast again. Jake had to decide what to do next.

  He figured he could go back to the cabin and get rest there, but instead, he ran the zodiac up the coast and snuck into Cumberland Bay East. He practically held his breath as he slipped by King Edward Point, fearing that the gunboat might have gone there. There was no sign of it, and he stayed out of shooting range of King Edward’s Point Research Station. He stashed the zodiac near Grytviken Station. He didn’t stop to socialize or get ambushed by Braulio. He grabbed his pack and headed out. Putting on his snowshoes, he made the long climb up the mountain. Half way up, he felt pain and wetness in his pant leg. It was never good to aggravate a gunshot wound, day after day.

  When he reached the higher elevations, he got out his binoculars and studied the snow for footprints. None were visible on his side of the ridge, which meant the sniper had probably not returned unless he was just over the ridge.

  Jake felt naked and vulnerable as he hiked up the mountain. He stopped frequently and searched for any sign while tears from pain watered in his eyes. He lay down in the snow and checked his leg in the freezing air. It looked infected, and that worried him. Puss was oozing out of the chaffed wound. Ideally, he should have taken better care of himself and rested more, but circumstances hadn’t given him that option. He kept going.

  At the ridge, he trained his binoculars on the sniper’s nest down by the cruise ship. It was so cold that ice had formed on his glasses, obscuring his view. He rubbed at the ice with a numb, gloved finger, but the ice was tenacious. He did the best he could with the glasses. Light snow blew in horizontally, and that posed another thin veil / “vaccine” between him and any potential threats. There was no sniper in the area that he could spot. Those people were masters of camouflage, but Jake had been trained by Stuart in patience and observation. He lay in the snow for over an hour until he was shaking to the core.

  Movement down on the coast caught his attention. He saw four men take a skiff out to the gunboat, which was buoyed, just up the shore from the massive quilt of white camo tarp. After dropping the men off, the skiff motored back under the gigantic patchwork of connected white tarps covering the hidden cruise ship. The gunboat headed north, up the coast, and that got Jake wondering why.

  He hiked up to the high ridge marking the island’s spine, around 2000 feet above sea level, where low clouds crawled over the mountains, obscuring his view. He picked his way across Neumayer Glacier at a cautious pace, battling pain, always careful so that he didn’t plunge to his death in some icy crevice. As he traversed the hazardous terrain, he crossed thin, slippery ledges. At times he was forced to use his rope and climbing equipment on the glacier’s icy slopes, which slowed him down. He feared that his slow pace would force him to camp on the glacier, but he would do what he had to. Patches of ice broke away under his feet and slid down the slope, gathering speed at first, but then playing out.

  He snowshoed down to a beach on Stromness Bay, northwest of the bay where the cruise ship was hidden. From there he trudged another few miles along the shore, his leg bloody and aching. He wove carefully among colonies of seals. Curious pups approached him as he limped along, but he angled away to keep his distance. Kelp gulls and pintails floated around in the wind, filling the beach with their lonely cries. Penguins stood around on the beach like loafers, and Jake was tempted to join them to get some rest. Instead, he kept moving toward the station with fatalistic determination.

  Husvic Whaling Station had been set up in 1910 and was closed for good in 1961. The facilities had been partially dismantled over the years, and the station looked like it had been bombed. Big pipes and chimneys rose out of the snow at drunken angles along with metal buildings and whale oil tanks. As Jake approached the wreckage, he dropped to his stomach.

  Propped up on his elbows, he trained his binoculars at the gunboat, which was now buoyed a mile north along the shore. Just inland from there, he saw two wood buildings that had been maintained by the now-missing crew from King Edwards Point. They looked like little houses suitable for scientists in the field.

  Jake waited. As he kept the glasses on the houses, he wanted to change his bandages, but he needed to stay ready for action. He figured he hadn’t lost much blood today, but he was light-headed and felt weak. He waited … and waited. Waiting was so much nicer for his leg, yet so cold. He dreaded the thought of moving. After twenty minutes, he saw three men emerge. They talked, and then one returned to the gunboat.

  Crawling across the snow, he dragged his bad leg to limit the pain, which was getting worse due to the hiking. He took cover behind a big snow drift. After the boat had passed, he was ready to take advantage of the fact that nobody was watching the shoreline. He saw movement behind the obscured glass. Something was about to happen. He had to get closer for a better look. Just as he was about to move in, a smoker with an assault rifle stepped outside. Jake ducked down and flattened himself, counting the minutes, pinned down despite his impatience. Finally, the man went back inside. Jake ran up the beach with a limp. He took cover under a pile of driftwood logs. More armed thugs came out and hovered by the front door.

  The gunboat didn’t return until after dark, and a couple of men came ashore. After they went inside, Jake crept up to the little white building, which glowed with interior lights. Through the windows, he saw several Hispanic-looking men sitting at chairs. In the next room, a tall man with a long beard and black, pit-bull eyes was talking to an attractive Hispanic woman who was dressed like a Gypsy in colorful clothes.

  Jake could hear the sounds of their voices, but they spoke in hushed tones, so he could not hear any more. When the man moved to the next room, Jake moved to the next window.

  Now the man was addressing his crew of a dozen more thugs. They sat around a table, and he loomed over them as he stalked around the room. Most of them were probably Gypsies, but he didn’t know for sure.

  “I am the Gitano,” the man said, �
��but I am also the genuine blood seed of Vasco Nuñez de Balboa.” He shook his fist when he spoke. He seemed almost possessed. The muscles in his face flexed with tension. His nose scrunched. His lip curled. His eyes lit fires. “My father was a Spaniard of high blood. My mother was a Gitano of a leading family. I will be a historic figure in the annals of Spain. I will change the history of the Gitanos. I have already begun.” He shook his fist.

  The men clapped.

  “Alamar is the Gitano. You have each played a part in his destiny. No Gitano clan in history can match what he accomplished in Spain. A few more years, and he would have controlled not only the most powerful crime family in Spain, but also in all of Europe. Profits came to us like the currents of the ocean. You were a part of that. You had more cash than you could spend. Alamar was the whale, and you clung to his back.”

  Again they clapped. Jake realized by the tone that the man was talking about himself. He was Alamar. He was the Gitano.

  The Gitano stalked around the room, glaring contemptuously at his men. “Our profits helped build the mosques of Tangiers. The Gitano has broken the archaic and limiting beliefs of our ancestors. While they sold goods to put food on the table, Alamar built a pipeline of cash with our heroine marketing channels in the Basque country. His operation was the envy of every crime family in Spain.” Now Alamar began shouting. “That is why they banded together against him. It is because they feared his rise to prominence. They feared him!”

  His face twisted in fury as he spoke of himself as he and him. Jake had never heard someone speak of themselves in this way. He watched in fascination as Alamar ranted at his men as if he were a fanatic. Each man watched and clapped as if caught up in a trance. Even Jake felt the pull of the man’s charisma.

  Alamar stalked around the room while his men sat nervously. “You cannot stop a tsunami,” he said, raising his bulky arms, “any more than you can stop a planet from circling the sun. The Italians and the Russians were foolish to think they could stop the Gitano. My withdrawl from Spain is like the water’s withdrawl from the coast before the tsunami makes landfall. Everything will give way before the Gitano. His crime family will spread across Europe and America like an act of nature.

  “His ancestor Balboa discovered the Pacific Ocean. The Gitano’s influence will stretch from the Pacific to the Atlantic, from Spain to Eastern Russia. The Gitano will rule over many crime families. Alamar disowns Christian Gitanos and accepts into his fold our Islamic brothers in Morocco. He will show the world greatness. You will be his leading capos.

  “My power spread across Spain like a tsunami wave. Now the Gitano will rise again. He will put his foot on the throats of the infidel. Those who persecuted his people in the past will fear them in the present. I am the Gitano!”

  The men leapt to their feet and pounded their hands together with passion. Alamar motioned for them to sit down.

  He said, “A cargo ship has arrived to pick up the platinum. Tomorrow, we will transfer the platinum to her. A second crew of Moroccan sailors will arrive in a few days to buy the cruise ship and take it to India, where it will be resold. The Gitano will collect $2 million dollars for the ship. The platinum is worth $7 million, which he will collect. Each of you will share in the spoils. You will roll in money. When you follow the Gitano, money flows to you. The lion’s share of the loot, however, will go to Alamar to finance our return to Spain and to expand our operations. Each of you will be assigned a region and given the power to grow your operations. You will build your organizations and destroy anyone who gets in your way.”

  They clapped, and the clapping rose in fervor.

  Alamar, the Gitano, ended the speech by saying, “Now, men, Juan has informed me that the intruder was last seen on the cargo ship an hour ago; however, the ship was searched, and nobody was found. He probably escaped down the beach in the darkness. He is after something, and I want to know what it is.” He paused and stared at his men. Nobody said a word.

  “Okay, you will always work in pairs from now on. Tomorrow we reduce the size of the work crew by fifty percent. The weak and those who are a drain on the system will be eliminated. Then you will have fewer watches. And you will soon make a fortune, but that is just a sample of what you can expect in the future as brothers.”

  The men stood and shouted their approval. Jake moved down the beach and sunk into the night. Now he understood. The cruise ship was targeted due to the secret cargo of platinum, and ship itself would be sold fast for scrap value. Now that the painting of the ship was almost finished, the cruise ship passengers had to be eliminated. Jake hoped that Ashley had called for help, but unless a ship was nearby, they would be too late. Action had to be taken now. If Jake was going to save them, time was running out fast.

  CHAPTER 20

  Back at the whaling station, Jake heard wind rumbling down the mountains and shaking the sheet metal roofs. Darkness hid every danger, and he moved slowly so that he didn’t trip over some junk and land on a sharp edge. Smoke was whisking out of holes in the side of the workshop, so Jake checked it out. What he found was probably good news given their lack of supplies. Braulio and Jose had killed and gutted four seals for food; the skins were hanging in the workshop by the fire. The meat was placed thirty-feet away from the fire, laid out on a series of elevated metal bars that were placed parallel to one another and six-inches apart. Most of the meat was almost frozen.

  Jake found the lovely Talia in the station store, reading in the lantern light. She gave him the sad news about the latest scientist to be shot dead.

  “Was it the sniper again?”

  “We don’t know. We just found the body.”

  Chuck thought about it for a moment. He shook his head. “Where is everyone?”

  “You shouldn’t have come back here, Jake. Braulio claims you’re a traitor and he’ll treat you accordingly. Ava’s convinced him you’re working with the enemy and have a hand in the fatalities.”

  “Then we’ll settle it once and for all.”

  “No.” She put down her book.

  “Yes.”

  She avoided eye contact for a moment, then said, “They should have been back an hour or two ago based on what they said. Most of them got sick of waiting around here, so they went out into the field, foraging for supplies or food or looking for a better camp.”

  “At night?”

  “I don’t know what they’re up to.”

  “Where’s Pace?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he went with Len Jackson.”

  “Where to?”

  “Len wanted to do nighttime photography of the waves breaking along coast. He wasn’t supposed to be gone this long based on what he said.”

  “Photography? Really? At a time like this?”

  “He said he needed to do something to calm down. There’s bad news Jake—really bad news.” She tucked her white scarf under her white jacket.

  “Oh. I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  She stood up. “No, you don’t. Len saw Horace down by Leith Harbor. He threatened to kill you.”

  “It’s not the first threat. I’ll stay alert.”

  “It’s worse than just that. Len…” She looked away as if unable to speak. She gathered herself and continued. “Len Jackson found the two scientists who were doing field research. They were …” She took a deep sigh. “They were stabbed to death; their food and gear was stolen. Horace and his two accomplices were nearby.”

  Talia wiped away tears, and Jake hugged her gently. “It’s going to be alright. Just be cautious.” He held her close for a minute and then walked to a tear in the metal siding. He stood there for a couple of minutes, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He watched and listened to the night. The wind rolled over the darkness like a steam locomotive. Buildings squeaked like ships stretching their beams and plates in the big waves. Loose metal siding clattered and screeched. He held his hand in front of his face to protect his eyes from flying snow.

  When he returned to
the fire, Talia said, “Ava blames you, Jake. She says when you suggested self-defense, it pushed Horace to desperate measures and caused him to panic.”

  Jake shook his head. “Whatever. Look, how’s Red Mayo?”

  “He’s doing better. I don’t know where Ava is. She’s not talking to me anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s been acting very strange. Look, Jake. It’s not safe for you here. Braulio is around, and nobody knows where Horace is. You better be careful.”

  Jake admired Talia’s dark eyes. “I have to do something. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Just be careful.”

  Jake walked down the dark beach, which was full of the sounds of barking seals. In one hand he held a club; in the other, he carried a six-inch hunting knife. He was walking very close to the seals, and one big male didn’t like the intrusion. He roared and came after Jake.

  CHAPTER 21

  Awkwardly, like an injured dolphin, Jake swam underneath the massive camouflage net without using his waterproof flashlight. The kicking motions chaffed his bullet wound, but he focused on his watery surroundings. He quickly realized that the new ship had docked in front of the cruise ship.

  After tying his scuba gear to the netting where it dipped into water, Jake climbed the net rungs beneath the canvas and found them firmer than before. He climbed toward danger. The dogs worried him. They were the most vicious dogs he’d ever seen. They were trained pit killers, and he probably couldn’t outrun them. Climbing mostly with his arms and his upper body, he was having a hard time holding onto the rope netting under the tarp. He held on like a sailor up in the rigging of a storm-tossed tall ship from the golden age of sail. He was pounded loose by a gust. He hung by one hand, dangling over a strip of water in the darkness below. He swung his free arm up and grabbed inch-thick netting. He felt his weary abs as he reached over with his leg and got his foot on a rope rung that was jerking around wildly. He climbed, and the rehab shoulder swelled with grit.