by Matt Lincoln
Sanchez grinned wickedly at my question.
“Ten?” he guessed smugly, the smirk on his face growing wide. “Maybe twenty? Who knows? I’ve never counted or anything. There are more of us than you can imagine.”
He was staring at me with a cocky, arrogant smile, and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. While it was unsettling to think that there really could be that many branches of the group scattered around the world, I really couldn’t take him seriously when it was so blatantly obvious how hard he was trying to sound menacing.
“Thank you,” I replied flatly instead. Sanchez gritted his teeth and scrunched up his nose like he’d just smelled something rotten, and I knew that my disinterest had annoyed him. “So tell me more about Viper. Where can I find him?”
“How should I know where he is?” Sanchez scoffed. “He’s probably on the move as we speak. Even if I knew, he’d be gone by the time you got there.”
“What do you mean he’s on the move?” I asked. Something about the way he’d said that had caught my attention. Was it possible that he meant Viper was preparing another strike, like the one against the Chinese cargo ship?
“I mean that he’s moving around,” Sanchez replied, looking at me like I was an idiot for even asking. “On the giant warship of his. Never stays in one place for more than a night. Harder to catch that way.”
I realized then that when he’d said he was “on the move,” that he’d meant it literally. That’s why none of the suspects we’d spoken to could tell us where Viper was: he was on a ship.
“You said war ship?” I repeated as I dug my phone out of my pocket. “So Viper was on the ship that attacked the Chinese freighter a week ago?”
“Of course he was,” Sanchez replied as he attempted to move his arms into a more comfortable position, an action that was impossible because of the way he was cuffed to the table. “That big black ship is his. Ever since he got his hands on it, he’s been sailing it around, showing it off.”
“Is he in this video?” I asked as I found the clip of the attack that one of the Chinese crewmen had recorded. Several of the pirates were visible in the video, though only faintly and some for only a few seconds. I held my phone out to Sanchez and waited as he watched the video.
“There,” he spoke up when the video was nearly over. I paused and then rewound a few seconds until he indicated for me to stop.
“That’s him, I think,” he informed me as he nodded toward one of the figures in the frame. “Standing on top of the turret. It’s blurry, but I’m pretty sure that’s him. He wouldn’t have let anyone else go near that cannon.”
“Okay.” I frowned as I turned the phone over to examine the image of the man more closely. I really couldn’t make out any discernable features aside from a large black tattoo that seemed to go up and down both arms. I put the phone away before turning back to Sanchez.
“You must have some kind of land base,” I insisted. “Even if most of what you do takes place on the water, there has to be somewhere you go to refuel and unload your stolen goods. Where is that?”
“Used to be in Florida,” he grumbled. “Back when all we did was smuggle drugs from Colombia into the states. Then it got too risky. It wasn’t a good idea to leave so much product on American soil. So we switched to this little town in the Cayman Islands. Right between Colombia and Florida, and the authorities there don’t give a crap so long as we slip them a little something under the table to look the other way.
It was frustrating for me to hear about yet another corrupt law enforcement official. Criminals would have a much more difficult time getting away with crimes if the people in charge actually did their jobs and prevented it from happening.
“Where in the Cayman Islands is this base?” I asked.
“George Town,” he clarified. “They get a lot of cruise ships stopping in, so it’s not all that hard for our boats to blend in and do what we need to do. We mostly use it for refueling and stashing goods now since we realized there was more profit in raiding other ships than there is in drug smuggling. Don’t really like to spend all that much time back in Colombia, either. A lot of us have records there. Everywhere else, not so much.”
“Well, that’s going to change pretty soon,” I muttered in response.
Sanchez glared at me, the smug smile slipping off of his face at my comment.
“You’ve been extremely helpful, Mr. Sanchez.” I smiled at him coldly as I stood up. “Thanks for your time.”
I turned on my heel and walked back through the door without waiting for a response. I could hear him beginning to scream at his lawyer again as I shut the door behind me. I felt bad for the guy. Couldn’t he just fire Sanchez as a client? Maybe not… I wasn’t sure how that worked in Italy.
“Cayman Islands, huh?” Hills grumbled as I stepped into the adjoining room right next door. I could see Sanchez through the two-way glass, his face twisted up in anger as he unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse onto his lawyer. “Makes sense. It is directly between the US and Colombia. Guess they kept using it even after they switched their focus from smuggling to pirating.”
“Just look at him go,” Gabriella muttered, her voice laced with anger. “Attacking that poor man like that. He certainly didn’t yell at Ethan like that.”
“Of course not,” Chapman scoffed. “Agent Marston could actually kick his ass. Only a coward like Sanchez would pick on someone half his size and probably twice his age.”
“I’ll have some officers on standby for security,” Vitale replied as he watched the scene in the interrogation room. He turned to look at me. “Regardless of that, what will you do now? He said their base was in the Cayman Islands, correct? Will you head there?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “If what he said is true about Viper being impossible to find because he’s constantly on the move, then heading to their resupply point is our best bet. He’ll come back there, eventually.”
“I understand,” Vitale sighed as he turned to address the rest of the agents. “I suppose your job here is finished, after all. You found out who was behind the attack against the cargo ship and even managed to reveal that the freighter’s crewmen were themselves smugglers of illegal arms. It was a pleasure working with you all.”
“Likewise,” I replied. Vitale was a nice guy and clearly took his work seriously. It was always nice working with someone who was both competent and cooperative.
“I’ll see about arranging the extradition paperwork for Sanchez,” Vitale said before stepping out of the room.
“We should call Diane,” Holm suggested as he stood from his chair. “Let her know about the Cayman Islands.”
“We’ll call Wallace too,” Chapman added as everyone began to filter out of the room to go off to their respective tasks until only Gabriella and I were left inside.
“When do you think you’ll be leaving?” she asked, her voice quiet as we stepped out of the small viewing room.
“Probably tonight, if it can be arranged,” I replied. “Maybe tomorrow morning.”
“I see,” she mumbled as she fiddled with the button on her shirt sleeve. “That’s a shame. You’ve only been here for a few days, and you’re leaving so quickly.”
“Yeah,” I replied, feeling a little melancholic. I’d only known Gabriella for a few days, but the idea of parting when we’d just barely made a connection still made me sad.
“I’m sure you’ll catch them.” She smiled up at me before looking away, her trademark blush returning in full force. “I should… go and help Captain Vitale with his paperwork.”
Gabriella turned and scurried off before I could reply, her ponytail swishing back and forth as she stalked steadily away. She was charming, the way she went from determined and headstrong one second to awkward and blushing the next. It really was a shame that we had so little time and opportunity to spend together.
It felt bittersweet as I walked away to go find Holm.
27
Ethan
We
left for the Cayman Islands that afternoon. We’d almost ended up being late for the flight as a result of Agent Hills insisting that he had to find a souvenir for his niece Amber before we left Italy. It had surprised me to hear that, especially after he’d already poked fun at his partner for acting like a tourist, and especially for someone like Hills, who didn’t seem remotely like the kind or sentimental type.
“It’s not like it matters if we’re late,” Hills grunted as we climbed onto the plane, a large paper shopping bag in one hand. “What is he gonna do? Leave without us?”
“It’s still not polite,” Chapman retorted as we sat down. “And it might mess up the other planes’ schedules if we don’t take off on time.”
“As if flights are ever on time, to begin with,” Hills scoffed as he reclined one of the seats back before folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.
“It’s still rude,” Chapman muttered as he pulled a gaming system out of his bag and settled back into his own seat.
I wondered if I should try to go to sleep as well. It was still pretty early, but a flight from Italy to the Cayman Islands was still about sixteen hours, even if we didn’t make any stops.
“So you and Gabriella, huh?” Holm muttered under his breath as I reclined my seat back, low enough that only I would hear him.
“What?” I replied. “What about her and me?”
“Come on.” He chuckled. “How many girlfriends does that make at this point?”
“Zero,” I deadpanned, a little more loudly than I’d intended.
“Sure,” he replied. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that she was still there the morning after you two had drinks. And after I was such a good friend and left so you two could spend some time together, like you clearly wanted to.”
“Thanks,” I snorted. “That was so generous of you.”
“Wasn’t it?” He grinned.
We spent another hour or so trading barbs back and forth before we eventually lapsed into silence. It wasn’t until Chapman suddenly spoke up that we stopped to turn towards him.
“I think Fiona’s got something,” he declared as he flipped up a folding table built into the wall of the plane before setting his laptop down on top of it. The screen was open to a video. I could see the agent from before on it, though the image was blurry and was stuttering every few seconds.
“Sorry, the connection’s so bad.” Chapman grimaced. “It’s hard to get decent Wi-Fi on planes.”
“Better than nothing,” Hills grumbled next to me, and I jumped at suddenly hearing his voice.
“Weren’t you just asleep?” I asked as he leaned down to look at the computer.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m a light sleeper. Never know when you’re going to have to get up and book it.”
“Can you… me?” Agent Gardner called from the video.
“Kinda,” Chapman replied.
“Great… so here’s what… got,” she replied, her voice cutting in and out over the weak internet connection. It wasn’t great, but it was clear enough that I could get the gist of what she was saying.
“I’m pretty sure this… your guy.” The screen suddenly changed to a still image of a man wearing orange prison garb. His hair was dark and cut short, and he had an interesting tattoo of a snake that wound itself up one arm and back down the other, just like the blurry figure that Sanchez had pointed out in the video.
“How d'you find this?” I asked, slightly in awe. It was possible it was just a coincidence, but I’d wager there weren’t many people that had a tattoo exactly like this. “And so fast.”
“I’m… genius,” Gardner replied smugly with a casual wave of her hand. “Actually, you’d… surprised what you can find… modern imaging software. Anyway, his name is…”
I almost groaned out loud as the video froze right as she was about to tell us the man’s identity.
“What?” Chapman exclaimed. “We didn’t get that!”
“Jorge Velasquez,” Gardner repeated, enunciating every syllable as she spoke. “That’s… name. The photo is from a few years ago. He served time for… assault and… smuggling. He was released due to overcrowding issues.”
“That’s comforting,” Hills sneered. “Prison’s too full, so they just let people walk out? Now, look at what he’s up to.”
“That’s… way it is,” Gardner replied. “I cross-referenced the name… some addresses in the Cayman Islands. There were… few that came up. I’m forwarding… to you and to the police at George Town so… be ready when you arrive.”
“Great.” Chapman smiled. “That’s a huge help. Thanks, Fi.”
“No problem,” she replied. “I’ll call you again… find anything else.”
The video chat ended, and Chapman shut the computer.
“Thank goodness,” Hills muttered. “It was irritating only being able to hear half of everything she was saying.”
“I thought you said it was better than nothing?” Chapman frowned up at Hills.
“It is.” He shrugged as he stood back up straight and retreated to his seat on the other side of the plane. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t irritating all the same.”
Hills didn’t bother to wait for Chapman’s response before shutting his eyes again.
Agent Chapman, however, didn’t seem all that bothered and just stowed his laptop back away in his bag.
“I wonder what’s in there,” Holm mumbled absently as he nodded toward the large paper bag that Hills had brought on board with him.
“Probably a stuffed animal,” Chapman replied vaguely as he went back to his game console. “Amber’s been really into them lately. Charlie got her one a few months back, and that’s all she wants now.”
It still felt oddly dissonant for me to imagine a guy like Hills, who was persistently grumpy and seemed to complain about everything, wandering through a store to carefully pick out a stuffed animal for a little girl. I guessed the saying about judging a book by its cover was right.
I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep, only that I nodded back awake sometime later as the plane touched down into the tarmac. I could see sunlight as I peered out of the window, even brighter than it had been when we left. Dealing with time zone changes was always a little jarring.
“You were out like a light,” Holm commented from beside me.
“We barely got any sleep while we were over there,” I countered. Now that I thought back on it, the most sleep I’d gotten was the night I’d spent with Gabriella, which was saying something, considering we hadn’t done very much sleeping that night at all.
I could feel the heat in the air the moment I stepped off of the plane. Since we were in a private jet and in a private terminal, we stepped directly off of the plane and into the bright sunlight outside. It was much hotter than it had been in Italy, with the added discomfort of a strong dose of humidity. The air smelled like salt, and it reminded me a little of Miami, actually.
“Let’s head to the hotel first,” Chapman suggested. “We can drop off our things, and I can call Fiona again. I want to make sure we didn’t miss anything important during that terrible call.”
“Sounds good to me,” I replied as we made our way out of the airport.
The outside of the airport, like most airports, was swarming with vans and taxis, eager to pick up unsuspecting and gullible tourists and charge them an arm and a leg to get to their destinations.
“How far is the hotel from here?” I asked no one in particular as I looked up the address myself on my phone. It was about five minutes away by car, or thirty if we walked. That wasn’t so bad, in my opinion. “Do you want to just walk there?”
“That’s fine by me,” Holm replied with a shrug. “I could use some time to stretch my legs after sixteen hours of sitting down.”
“Yeah, more time to see the sights, too,” Chapman chimed in as he readjusted his bag over his shoulder.
Hills was the only one that didn’t provide any verbal input into the discussion. He didn’t o
ppose it, though, which at least meant that he was alright with it.
I’d expected the island country to be teeming with palm trees, but to my surprise, the closer we got to the city, the less vegetation of any kind there was. Instead, the downtown area was packed with colonial-inspired buildings. The few palm trees I did spot were short and squat, with long, wispy fronds that almost looked like hair, as opposed to the towering and thick palm trees I was used to seeing in Miami.
The city felt warm, not only because of the high temperatures, but because of how yellow and orange everything was. The buildings were all made of brick and painted in shades of pale yellow and burnt orange, with hints of red and blue thrown in occasionally as well.
The Hotel Grand Cayman, where we were staying, was a normal-looking white building on West Bay Rd, just a few hundred feet from the beach. I could see the white sand from here, covered in tourists wearing brightly colored beach clothes and taking photos. The inside of the hotel was simply decorated, but still nicer than some of the other places we’d stayed. Several large, framed photos of the beach and local destinations were mounted on the wall inside the lobby, which was carpeted with a thick, lush blue fabric. It was also significantly cooler in here, which was pleasant after the trek through the sun and heat.
“How can I help you?” the woman standing behind the counter asked us.
I immediately felt grateful that we didn’t need a translator. After struggling so much in Italy, it was a relief not to have to deal with the language barrier. The Cayman Islands, being a British territory, used English as their primary language.
After checking in, we headed up to our rooms on the second floor via the stairs. Those rooms were all adjacent to each other, with mine being the one closest to the entrance of the stairs and Chapman’s being the one furthest down the hall.
“Should we meet back in the lobby in five minutes?” Chapman asked as we all stepped toward our respective doors.
“Sure,” I replied before stepping into my room. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d need even that much time to set my things down, maybe splash some water on my face after the flight, and then walk down here.
