Island Inferno

by Chuck Holton

  A pang stabbed at him. Was it regret at having sworn off all the mushy stuff? In reality, he was enjoying the fact that he could relate to Fernanda as a friend. An unbelievably attractive woman, but a friend just the same.

  She saw him staring and pursed her lips at him.

  “What’s that mean?” Rip asked.

  “What?”

  “That lip thing you just did.”

  Fernanda laughed. “Oh. It’s like, ‘what’s up?’ ”

  Rip nodded. “I was thinking how glad I am you came along, chica.”

  She gave him a demure smile. “You mean tonight?”

  “I mean at all.”

  She blushed. “Well, thanks for calling tonight. I would have been sad if you’d left without saying good-bye.”

  “No way. And make sure I get your e-mail address before we take off.”

  “I will. Have you heard anything about Sergeant Hogan?”

  “Apparently Buzz is doing very well. He’ll probably be out of the hospital by the time we get back.”

  “Thank God for that. I’ve been worried about him.”

  Rip raised an eyebrow. “What about your two friends? Any news?”

  Fernanda shook her head. “I spoke with the jefe in Santiago this afternoon, and he said they’ve searched the entire island of Coiba and are fairly certain that Carlos and Zack were taken off the island at some point. But then, they haven’t found Chombon either, and we know he was there. It’s just so thick, so remote …”

  In all the excitement, Rip had forgotten how much grief Fernanda had to be dealing with. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I’m sorry, amiga. I guess this situation didn’t turn out so great for you.” He slid a napkin over to her.

  She waved it off. “No, that’s okay. I haven’t given up hope. This whole thing has been so crazy. I mean, to think that Tío Edgar has been leading this secret life—and now he’s a wanted criminal!”

  Rip nodded. “I hope they catch him too. How’s your mother taking all this?”

  “I don’t know if she’s madder at Edgar for embezzling money from Casa Lerida or at herself for not noticing. But she’ll be fine. She’s a very strong woman.”

  Rip smiled. He’d always heard that a girl’s mother was the best measure of what she’d turn into. “Maybe that’s where you get it.”

  Sweeney spoke up from the other side of the table. “It’s really too bad Mary couldn’t come. She’s kind of the guest of honor, you know?”

  Coop shrugged. “Yeah, but actually, Fernanda should hold that title. We’d have lost everything—including Mary—if it hadn’t been for her.”

  “Here, here!” Doc raised his glass, and the other men followed suit.

  “To Fernanda!” John said.

  Rip looked at her as he raised his Coke with the others. He caught her eye and said, “You did good.”

  Fernanda grinned. “Thank you, but I still can’t believe Tío Edgar was involved with all of this.” She shook her head.

  “Hey, what did I miss?” Hedi returned from a trip to the ladies’ room and sat between Fernanda and Frank.

  “We were toasting Miss Lerida for our success,” Sweeney said, as he stuffed a cheese fry into his mouth.

  “Oh. Well, let me get a picture.” Hedi pulled her digital out of her purse. “Raise your glasses again.”

  Everyone laughed, and this time, Fernanda raised hers too. Hedi stepped back and blinded everyone with the flash as she captured the shot.

  A waiter walked up behind the blond German girl. “¿Quiere que lo saque de todos?” He pointed at her camera.

  Hedi scrunched up her face and looked at Fernanda. “That was too fast. What did he say?”

  Grinning, Fernanda said, “He asked if you wanted to get in the picture too.”

  “Oh no, gracias.” Her German-accented Spanish almost made Rip cough soda through his nose. “Miro … no … parece feo … Ugh! Tell him I look terrible in pictures.”

  Fernanda and Rip both laughed at that.

  Coop spoke up. “Come on, Hedi. Let’s get one with all of us. Hey, Frank, did you bring the team camera?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Frank pulled the ruggedized Olympus digital camera from his go-everywhere daypack. He handed it to the waiter and tugged at Hedi’s belt. “Come on, Hedi. Sit down and smile and it’ll all be over before you know it.”

  “If you insist.” She took her seat and threw an arm across Frank’s shoulders as they turned toward the camera.

  The waiter snapped the photo and started to hand the camera back, but Hedi stopped him. “Oh, wait! Take another one, and this time let’s all make a funny face.”

  The waiter shrugged, then stepped back to get the shot. Fernanda looked at Rip and rolled her eyes until he made a face at her that started her laughing.

  Then just before the waiter snapped the shutter, Hedi kissed Frank on the cheek! The flash went off, and the whole group exploded in laughter. Frank shook his head as he wiped the lipstick from his face.

  Everyone had to see the picture. Rip snatched the camera and switched it to display mode, then he and Fernanda hooted at the expression on Frank’s face in the picture.

  “Let me see!” Hedi grabbed for it.

  She looked at the screen. “Hey, this isn’t the right pic—I must have hit a button or something.”

  Frank leaned over. “Oh, you advanced back to the first shot on the card. That’s from the island.”

  Coop’s smile disappeared. “Frank, she shouldn’t see those.”

  Frank reached for the camera. “Sorry, hon, those are classified. Lemme get it back to the one you wanted to see.”

  “Wait! Wait!” Hedi pulled the camera away from him and stared intently at the screen. “That’s Zack and Carlos getting in that boat! What are they doing with Hugo?”

  Rip looked quickly from Hedi to Coop to Fernanda. “Who’s Hugo?”

  Hedi pointed at the screen. “That’s Hugo. This slimy guy who hangs out at the pizza place in Santa Catalina.” She looked at Fernanda. “He kept trying to pick me up when I was waiting there for you.”

  Fernanda took the camera and peered at the screen. Her eyes went wide. “That is Zack and Carlos. We’ve got to alert the authorities! Hedi, does this man live in Santa Catalina?”

  She shrugged. “He must. He was at Pizza Jamming almost every night. He kept trying to buy me drinks one night and told me that I should go with him back to his villa overlooking the ocean. I assume it was nearby.”

  Fernanda looked pale as she reached for her purse. “I need to make a few phone calls. Please … don’t wait on me.” She stood and hurried toward the exit.

  Rip looked in astonishment at his buddies around the table. “No way that just happened.”

  Turbo, Colombia. 1830 hours

  SEAGULLS CIRCLED NOISILY over the docks in the tiny town of Turbo, just across the Panamanian border into Colombia. The boat for Cartagena would be leaving shortly.

  The throwaway phone rang three times before Edgar realized the noise was coming from his own pocket. He’d finally gotten around to changing it to a normal ring, but without the stupid rap music, he hardly recognized the sound. A pang of sadness stabbed him as he thought of the son he would never see again.

  His spirits brightened when he heard the voice on the other end of the line, speaking English.

  “I have confirmation that the product is en route, Oswardo.”

  “Yes, yes.” He smiled broadly. “Everything went according to plan. When can I expect the rest of the payment?”

  “When the ship arrives and I take possession of the product.”

  “Bueno. You should see it within the week. It’s been nice doing business with you.”

  “As with you,” the voice said. “You’re sure there is no more of this product anywhere?”

  “Believe me, if I had any more I would certainly have sold it to you. But tell me, why are you so anxious to have it?” And to pay six times what I could have gotten anywhere else?

>   “Ah, that, my friend, is outside the scope of our relationship.”

  He figured as much. “Very well, amigo. I am not going to have this phone number much longer. But I will be sure to fax my new number to you when I get one.”

  “You do that, Oswardo. Good-bye.”

  He punched the button to end the call and stared at the black plastic device. It was the last tie he had to his old life.

  In one swift motion, he flung the phone out across the water. It skipped twice, then disappeared. He had been wanting to do that for a long time.

  He turned back toward the docks, inhaling deeply of the salty night air.

  It’s good to be free.

  Washington DC. 1825 hours

  Spring rain pounded on the terrace outside Michael LaFontaine’s office window, all but obscuring his view of the White House. But he glared at it anyway, fuming.

  Cowards. All of them.

  He steepled his hands, brooding in silence, everyone else having already gone home for the day.

  He’d lost count of the millions he’d spent trying to get the bozos in Congress to act decisively in the war on terror. Most of them were far too worried about saving face with the public to make the tough decisions. And the upshot was that the brave men and women who volunteered to fight the enemy were relegated instead to the role of international baby-sitters, their efforts thwarted by knock-kneed politicians who hoped somehow to defeat the enemy without actually offending him.

  And because of this political squeamishness, the American people had forgotten that there was ever any threat to their security.

  He picked up the report he’d been reading. Most Americans now spent more than four and a half hours each day in front of the television.

  Fat, dumb, and happy. It was the only way one could describe them. They were sheeple, nothing more. Mindlessly consuming whatever pablum the media dished out, far more concerned with who won this week’s American Idol than with preserving the greatness of their country. Most of them made no more use of the priceless gift of freedom than the average prison inmate. Freedom was simply cushioning to pad their behinds as they blithely watched TV.

  I’m so sick of watching the terrorists manipulate the media in order to receive sympathy from the very people they want to destroy. Doesn’t anyone else see it?

  It was a brilliant strategy, really. Defeat your enemy by distracting them from the goal. Convince them that their own leaders are the evil ones, make them forget that the threat is real. Appeal to their civility and use it as a weapon against them.

  He wadded up the report and threw it across the room. He knew what it would take to turn the tide of public opinion. Problem was, nobody had the courage to do it.

  Nobody but Michael LaFontaine.

  Multicentro Mall, Panama City. 1830 hours

  Fernanda’s heart raced as she dug in her purse for the card that Captain Estevez had given her on the island. She found it and quickly dialed the number for his office in Santiago. Her heels clicked on the polished marble floor of the mall, and the reverberating music from the Hard Rock Cafe faded behind her.

  A police sergeant on duty at the Santiago headquarters answered the call and said that the captain was gone for the day.

  Frantic, she told him who she was and that she had urgent information about the case. “Please. Is there someone you can send to Santa Catalina to check it out?”

  “I cannot send anyone, señorita, but I will call el Capitan at his home. I’m sure he will want to hear of this. He can send someone to Santa Catalina. But tell me, how did you come upon this information?”

  Fernanda stopped. Didn’t John say all of this was classified? She didn’t want to get Rip in trouble, but wasn’t finding Zack and Carlos more important?

  She did her best to straddle the fence. “The … um … Americans found some information on the island that showed he was involved.” She hoped it was enough to satisfy him.

  “Bueno, I will call the captain right away.”

  Her body tingled all over. “Thank you so much, Sargento. Please let me know if you find anything.” She gave the man her number and hung up.

  A voice sounded behind her. “There you are.”

  What are you doing, Rubio?

  Rip waved and offered a hopeful smile when Fernanda turned to the sound of his voice. He’d followed her because he had to—he couldn’t stomach the thought that she might leave to look for her friends and he wouldn’t get to say good-bye.

  His apprehension melted away when she smiled back.

  “Hey.” She slipped her phone back into her purse. “That was the police station in Santiago.”

  “Everything all right?”

  She nodded. “It looks hopeful. They’re sending someone to Santa Catalina to check it out.”

  “Great.” There was an awkward silence. Rip cleared his throat. “Um … want to take a walk?”

  “Sure. Let’s go out on the terrace.”

  Even though it went against his self-declared girl hiatus, warmth filled his chest as she slid her hand into his and led him out on a wide balcony overlooking Avenida Balboa. The traffic was relatively light, and a recent rain left the air smelling fresh and clean.

  Fernanda smiled. “Something makes me think that this is the clue we needed to find Carlos and Zack.”

  “How can you be so sure? They haven’t been found yet.”

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t know exactly how to describe it. It’s like a whisper from God in my mind.”

  Rip said nothing. In fact, he felt suddenly uncomfortable.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, um … nothing. I was just thinking about something that happened the other night when we found Phoenix. We were going to open the door to the room where she was, and it was like something told me not to do it.”

  “You mean, like a hunch?”

  Rip shook his head. “More than that. Almost like someone was talking to me.”

  “That’s just what I’m talking about. I woke up at like four thirty that morning with the same thing. It was like the Holy Spirit woke me up and told me to pray for you.”

  His eyes went wide. “Really? Did you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did. I prayed that you’d be safe.”

  Rip ran one hand over his stubbly head and gazed out over the city. “That’s about the time we found Phoenix, amiga. I guess your prayer worked, because if we had opened the door, none of us would be here now.”

  She smiled. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Because if you hadn’t been here tonight, we wouldn’t have seen those pictures.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Is it really?”

  “Really what?”

  “Is it really so unbelievable that God would help us when we ask?”

  Rip studied the moon’s reflection off the Pacific Ocean, barely visible between two skyscrapers across the street. That’s a good question. Is it really such a crazy idea? People a lot smarter than I am seem to believe it … and there’s no denying what happened the other night.

  Actually, when it came down to it, somewhere along the line he’d acquired a strange sort of aversion toward spiritual things. Somehow it seemed that if you had to rely on God, you weren’t man enough to get the job done alone.

  But as he thought about the situation with Gabi and his mother, he knew deep down that John was right. He couldn’t give his sister what she needed, because he didn’t have it himself.

  Something else came to mind—an image of John at the Waffle House, praying. What was it he’d said? “I’m man enough to pray …”

  There was no denying that John was a man’s man. And if he needed God to make it in life, what hope did Rip Rubio have of going it alone?

  He looked Fernanda in the eye. “No, amiga. I guess I have to believe it.”

  Her gaze dropped to their intertwined hands. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, saying nothing. He could sense she was struggling wit
h something.

  “What, chica?”

  Her eyes showed a vulnerability that pierced something in his soul. “I’d like to ask you something, because I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. I hope you won’t think I’m a freak or anything. But even if you do, I want you to know that I have so much respect for you and for the job you do.” She turned away slightly, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  He gently turned her face back to his. “Anything, Fernanda. Ask me anything.”

  She pulled him over to a bench and sat down. He sat next to her.

  “Okay, Rip. Do you believe that God loves you?”

  Now it was his turn to look away. Images of his past flooded his memory—the fights; the string of meaningless love interests, pursued for little more than momentary pleasure. Even the dirty work he’d had to do as a soldier.

  Something hardened within him. “You know, to be totally honest, after some of the things I’ve done, that’s pretty hard to believe.”

  “Do you believe Jesus is God’s Son and that He died on the cross?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. I can believe that.” It came with the upbringing, after all.

  She put her hand on his arm. “Why would He have chosen to do that if it wouldn’t have accomplished anything?”

  Rip furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Jesus did it willfully. If He is God’s Son, He didn’t have to die that way. But He did it to show His love for us. There’s a verse in the Bible that says God demonstrates his love for us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

  While we were still sinners. The same images flashed through his head, only now he saw Christ in the background, being flogged for every deed. Something about that image hurt—bad. The knot in Rip’s gut tightened until tears blurred his own vision. He turned away, hoping Fernanda wouldn’t see.

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Rip, God loves you and has a plan for you. He wants to give you the desires of your heart. But you have to give it to Him first.”

  “How?” His voice was only a whisper.

  For the moment they were alone on the balcony. Fernanda gently turned him so she could look him in the eye. “Tell Him, Rip. That’s how. Pray and tell Him you need Him in your life. I can pray it with you if you want.”