Beachcomber Trouble

by Stephanie Queen

  “You want to buy my truck? It’s not for sale.”

  “Everything is for sale, but I see your point. I’ll give you a bonus for the inconvenience of having to find a new one,” Dane answered in Portuguese.

  The man frowned and remained silent. Dane could hear him thinking and calculating as the wariness came back into the man’s face.

  “You’re an American.” The man spoke English.

  Damn.

  “You’re the police? Yes?”

  “No goddamn way.” Dane spoke in English this time. He didn’t want to waste any more time. “All you need to know is that I have money.” Dane put away his wad of twenties and went into his other pocket and pulled out the hundreds.

  The man looked nervous and his eyes darted right and left.

  “Who are you?”

  At least Dane knew the man didn’t work for the Tavares family. He’d have pulled out a gun or knife by now and taken the money—or tried to.

  “I’m an independent contractor. I’m a friend of the downtrodden.”

  “Downtrodden? What’s this?”

  “You. The poor people. The victims.” Dane didn’t want to specify that he was the enemy of the Tavares family, but he figured the guy would get the drift. And Dane was right. The old man’s head wandered left and his gaze lifted in the direction of the Tavares compound in the distance. Dane did not turn his head, but counted out five thousand clams and pressed it into the man’s hands.

  “I’ll give you a lift. You can fill me in on the local environs while we drive.” Dane pushed the man aside and opened the driver’s door, gesturing for him to get in the passenger side. Stuffing the money into his pants pocket, the man rushed around the other side of the Jeep, looking around like an escaped convict as he did.

  “I guess my disguise didn’t work too well,” Dane said. He shoved the familiar gear shifter into reverse and pulled away.

  “It wasn’t your look.” The crinkled old face cracked a smile. “It was your talk. And your American money. Only two kinds have American dollars around here.”

  “Which kinds are those?”

  “Tavares family and Americans. Not tourist Americans. Not in this part of town.”

  “I couldn’t be a lost tourist?”

  The man laughed then and his tanned skin glowed. He pointed and Dane took a turn. They were headed away from the Tavares compound and out of the small town into farm country down a muddy road canopied by encroaching forest.

  “You do not have the look of a lost man. You look loco. Dangerous.”

  “Tell me the best way to get into the Tavares compound.” Dane went for broke. He had nothing to fear from this man. He could sense it. The man was old enough and wily enough to have reached his advanced age as a farmer in this place. He must know a thing or two.

  The man gave a surprised look and then glanced out his window, silent for a few beats. Then he talked and Dane listened.

  Dane pulled the truck up in front of a small building that hardly looked like a house and turned to the man.

  “If I’m going through the front door, I’ll need to clean up.” If the disguise hadn’t worked for this regular local guy, it wouldn’t work for anyone in the Tavares company. He had to be losing his touch.

  On the other hand, he’d been in a hurry. The rush and lack of preparation led to mistakes. That didn’t bode well. It wasn’t as if this was the first time Dane had encountered deadline pressure or a ticking clock. Hopefully it wouldn’t be his last.

  The man nodded and said, “This way.” He led Dane around back to a cement pad with a hose and brought him a towel. It was enough to wash the dye from his hair and the makeup from his face. He’d ripped the moustache off and carefully removed the stud from the piercing in his nose. He reached into his backpack and brought out his only other clothes. They were for night wear. Black T-shirt and black jeans. Dane changed. He was aware that now he’d look more like one of the Tavares thugs than an American. But that was the idea.

  “What gave me away?” Dane asked the man as he handed him the backpack filled with his discarded clothing. He’d taken everything else useful he’d need from it. Mostly cash.

  “Your eyes. It’s in your eyes.”

  “The color?”

  The man shook his head. “The danger. Your eyes have a dangerous look. But that’s not all. The way you move and act. It cannot be faked or hidden.”

  Dane didn’t bother to tell the man that he’d managed to hide it in the past just fine. But this time around he was rusty. Or maybe he was too plain scared.

  The plan was simple but the intel was light. He had no idea what he was up against. He had to assume the perimeter was well guarded with men, electronics and dogs. The only way in was to masquerade as one of them. He needed to find a lone sentry and switch identities. There was a spot along the west perimeter with trees overhanging the wall. Dane climbed it and went out on a limb, figuratively and literally. He would wait for the perimeter guard to walk by and jump him, change clothes and then resume the watch. He’d had to rely on his new friend, a two-hour window of observations and guesswork for the rest to formulate the rest of his plan. The word sketchy didn’t cover it.

  Needing to travel light, he didn’t have his night vision goggles. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He sat on the limb near the trunk and waited for the guard to walk into his sight line. He’d need to make the leap out over the wall without making a sound. That was only the first of many technical flaws in the plan. But he was too aware of the ticking clock and the fear that erupted in his gut when he thought of Shana being held inside. He didn’t want her to spend the night in fear. He didn’t want to spend the night in fear.

  Before he could see the man, he could hear him. There was no caution, no need for stealth or quiet for the sentry and he trudged through the muddy perimeter path humming. Perfect. When he came into view, Dane looked for it and could see that the man wore ear buds. Taking a deep breath and then steadying his breathing, he tensed and gathered himself to his leaping position, concentrating on hitting his target more than being quiet.

  Dane leapt, clearing the wall and kicking his feet out, he toppled the unaware sentry. Not missing a single breath, he stepped on the man’s gun hand as he tried to scramble and knocked him across the head with his Glock with extra force. The man immediately went limp and Dane dragged him into the bushes at the base of the inside wall. He took the man’s jacket and his gun and his two-way. Too bad he wore no hat. Damn. Another one of those crucial details that had to be sacrificed in the interest of time. Dane would use the hat in his back pocket and hoped he didn’t encounter anyone astute enough to pick up on the difference.

  Hell, if he encountered anyone expecting this guy who knew him, he’d be outed. He needed to get inside right away and behave liked he belonged there. This was the very sketchy part of the plan. He gagged the man with the scarf from his pocket and bound his hands and feet with the two plastic ties he’d brought. That was the extent of the equipment he’d brought with him—save for the shoes and watch that Acer had supplied him with. He’d be in big trouble if he had to resort to using those. Now his trusty Glock and the guard’s automatic rifle would have to do.

  After hiding the man in the bushes as best he could, he stood on the path and forced himself to listen for a full minute. For good or bad, the only thing Dane heard was the too-fast beating of his own heart. He spotted the side door and two men in the dim light there. That was his goal. He needed to get inside and then find the basement. Based on what he knew about the compound, it was his best guess that she would be held in the basement. Too little intel. That’s where he would start. Wherever Shana was, he would find her. He waited another beat and one of the men moved off.

  Dane moved out at a low silent trot to come in behind the man standing there smoking a cigarette. He doubted the man would live to regret the nasty habit. Once he was within five feet, Dane stood and stepped up behind the man. The man turned exactly a
s Dane knew he would—right into the butt of the assault rifle. Dane caught him before he dropped to the ground, but he couldn’t catch the clatter of the man’s weapon on the cement patio. Wincing and glancing inside the open doorway, Dane yanked him into the bushes as quickly as he could.

  Then he stood flat against the wall next to the door as another man emerged speaking in rapid-fire Portuguese. Dane understood some of it—mostly colorful obscenities. When the man took two steps forward to look for his friend, Dane stepped up behind him. He hoped there was enough room in the bushes for the second man. That was his thought as he raised the automatic weapon behind the man’s head. Then a blinding pain struck him and everything went black.

  Chapter 7

  That didn’t go well. The thought escaped the fog in Dane’s mind before he opened his eyes. For the second time in two days—the first time at The Black Cigar—he found himself bested. Then he forced his eyes open. He had no time for nursing humility. He needed to find Shana. There was little to see. When he tried to move he felt the cuffs on his wrists behind him and on his feet in front of him. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and his head cleared enough to orient himself, he realized he was not alone.

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to come to your senses.”

  “Shana?” Dane tried to twist around to see the unmistakable source of those words, but as he tried, he realized that both his handcuffs and ankle cuffs were bolted to the floor and he was sitting with his back leaning against hers and with his knees half bent.

  “Jesus H. Christ.” He let the hot relief flood through him like a warm fire against the icy cold. Like the feel of her back against his. He pressed into her as he wriggled his hands to measure the cuffs.

  “Don’t get too excited yet,” she said. “We are chained to the floor and stuck in a basement in a heavily armed compound in some godforsaken outback in the Brazilian jungle, after all.”

  He snorted a laugh. “We’re not in an outback—we’re outside of Rio.” No matter now true the rest of her words were—and he knew their situation was dire—he couldn’t bite down on his relief at finding her alive. And his profound comfort at being with her.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said, but he heard the smile in her voice.

  “I always said, girlie, there’s no one I’d rather share a dungeon with.”

  “How about sharing a way out? Tell me the posse is right behind you and on their way to spring us.”

  “Yes—and no,” Dane said.

  “Shit. You are such a goddamn—

  “Hold on—where the hell is your confidence in me? What happened to Dane the legend?”

  “This better be good.” Shana’s voice had raised an octave. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  Dane looked around the small cave-like cell with no windows and one very small dim light over the door. He saw what he suspected was a surveillance camera in the corner. He’d have to go for it. He needed to get at the gadgets in his Belleville 610 hot weather tactical combat boots. He took a deep breath and set his jaw.

  “Hang on a minute.”

  Since he was more right-handed than left, Dane decided to dislocate his left thumb to squeeze his hand out of the cuff. He clenched his teeth and did not cry out. When he heard the slight snapping sound of his thumb joint, Shana jolted and said, “What the hell are you doing, Dane?” She jiggled behind him, struggling to turn. For the moment all he felt were the beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. Then he pressed his thumb back into place.

  “Goddamn that hurt.”

  “What? What did you do?” Shana’s voice was half alarmed and half admonishing and it made him smile in spite of the excruciating pain. He ignored her, flexed his fingers and winced, biting his lip rather than give her any more indication of his pain. With his left hand searing and swelling up, he reached forward to untie his bootlace, his right hand still locked behind him. It was a custom lace Acer had outfitted him with that hid a lock pick inside the end. It was made of a plastic polymer that would pass through a metal detector if need be. Dane had no idea what precautions the Tavares men had taken before locking him up, but luckily they left him with his boots on.

  “What the hell are you doing, Dane?”

  “I’m unlocking my ankle cuffs—don’t worry, I’ll get to you. Keep it quiet and see if you can block the view of that monitor up in the corner.” Once he had the pick removed, he flexed his hand again and worked on unlocking his feet. He could block most of the view of the camera while he was bent forward, but once he started unlocking his other hand and then got to Shana, they would find out if the guy monitoring the surveillance footage was asleep on the job or not.

  It seemed to take several minutes to unlock the cuffs at his two ankles. His fingers worked, but the pain caused him to fumble and he dropped the lock pick twice.

  “Hurry it up, will you?” He felt Shana leaning sideways to block the camera. His wrist throbbed and swelled. He checked his watch. Funny they hadn’t bothered taking his far-from-ordinary watch. The face lit the time. A little under a minute and his ankles were free.

  “I’m going to unlock my right wrist now. Lean over that way as much as you can to keep blocking me from the camera.” His voice sounded strained, to his chagrin. He turned and, clenching his teeth, stuck the pick in the lock in one motion, gave it a twist and yanked it open. He shook it off and jumped to a squat behind Shana, ready to work.

  By the time he got to Shana’s second wrist, his hand shook and sweat trickled down his temples. Not from the heat, but from the pain.

  “Let me do it.”

  The statement was mild but he felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the room, leaving his chest empty. He forgot about the surveillance camera, turned and looked at her. She met his eyes and then darted a glance at his hand. It was deformed with swelling and he held it against his belly. It throbbed. His heart throbbed in his chest in an unnatural galloping beat. This was a moment of truth. Or a moment where he admitted his vulnerability to her. But he’d done that before, whether he wished to recall it or not.

  “You going to be okay?” She glanced again at his hand.

  “I’ll live.” He gave her the lock pick.

  “I hope we both live, but the jury is out. We need to find a way out of here without being stopped by any of the guards. How did you get this past them—never mind.” She worked fast and freed herself from the cuffs, trying to stay in place. The groan of relief almost did him in. Whatever throbbing pain had been overwhelming him before disappeared as the realization slapped him. She’d been chained here all night.

  “Are you okay? Never mind me. How long have you been here?”

  “I have no idea. I’ll be okay. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I had my moments, but…” She stopped and turned to the camera, then leaned back against him the way the men had left them.

  “But what?” He should leave it alone and move on. They needed to get out of there while the getting was good. They’d need to disable the camera—if it was even operational because Dane was beginning to have his doubts. Either it was a bluff or the watcher was dozing on the job. He twisted around again.

  “Tell me, Shana. But what?” He pulled her face around to look at his.

  “But I forgot all about the pain and the exhaustion and the worry and even the moments of despair the instant they dragged your sorry ass into the cell and propped you against my back. Then I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Strange, huh? We were still stuck here after they slammed the dungeon door behind them and yet I couldn’t help feeling…” She hesitated a beat and when he thought he was going to have to wring the last bit out of her she whispered, “happy.” It almost didn’t matter that the admission was at odds with the miserable look on her face, but it did matter.

  “Misery loves company?” He pushed.

  She shook he head. “More than that.” Then she pulled away from him. “Let’s get out of here.”<
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  He stood, hiding the creaky inflexibility of his knees and lower back as he did so. Damn, he was getting old. He held his right hand out to her and helped her unfold from her position on the floor. She stretched to her full height without too much trouble after being bent and sitting on the floor for unending hours.

  “Don’t worry, girlie. If they were really monitoring us they’d have pounced on us by now. Our trouble is going to be getting their attention so they open the door and we can get out.”

  “But at least now we have weapons.” She lifted a chain from the floor and toyed with it. He couldn’t help the adolescent thought that popped into his head about what he’d rather be doing with that chain and her.

  She read his mind or so it seemed by the half laugh, half snort. “You’re incorrigible, Dane Blaise.” She walked to the dungeon door and peered out the grimy window. He was right behind her. Literally. She pushed back and elbowed him for space, so he pushed her aside and peered into the surprisingly well-lit hallway. Although, good lighting was not necessarily their friend right now. He checked the door handle. It rattled. He pushed down on the lever. It didn’t move. He banged against the door and it rattled but not enough to keep banging himself against it.

  “Ideas? You got any more tricks up your sleeve?”

  He grinned at her. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Acer had given him several gadgets, not all of which he figured he’d need, but he saw an immediate use for the plastic explosives hidden in the heel of his shoe. He bent and, using his good hand, took his shoe off.

  Shana watched Dane as he removed a square hunk of what she assumed was C-4 plastic explosive.

  “Goddamn those are some special boots you have there.”

  “Courtesy of Jeremiah Acerman.” He spoke in a low voice—in case.

  “God bless the man. Remind me to give him a big fat kiss when we see him next.”