Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1)

by Fernando Gamboa

  Riley sniffed himself and recoiled. “You’re right. Maybe I should go shower.”

  “Maybe?”

  Riley turned toward Jack, whose bulk took up a large part of the small cabin. “Listen . . .” he said, absently scratching his beard, “we have to talk.”

  “Oh no,” Jack cried, touching his heart. “Are you going to break up with me? You just said you love me!”

  “Don’t mess around,” Riley said, trying not to laugh.

  “I mean it.” Jack gave him a conciliatory look and leaned his elbows on the front console. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about . . . Elsa.”

  “Yeah,” he said drily. He glanced forward at her. She looked limp and emaciated as she leaned over the bulwark. “Not so seductive like that.”

  “It’s happened to all of us,” Riley said. “I remember your first few weeks on board, you lost about twenty pounds.”

  “I still have nightmares about those North Sea surges.”

  “Yeah,” Riley snorted. “Good times.”

  The two men were silent for almost a minute. Their gazes softened as they thought of other seas and other days.

  “Anyway,” he said, “like I told you, there’s something I want to tell you about the girl.”

  “No need, Alex. I know.”

  “You know?” Riley asked, surprised and looking like he’d swallowed a fly.

  “I was thinking about what you told me,” Jack continued, putting his hand on Riley’s shoulder. “I realize it’s a bad idea to get involved with a girl who’ll be gone in a week. You’re totally right. So from now on”—he nodded gravely—“she’s old news.”

  “But . . . really?”

  “Totally.”

  “So, you don’t . . . ?” He pointed to the slender girl through the window.

  “It’s over,” he said firmly.

  Riley didn’t know what to say for a while, wavering between confession and deception.

  “Well . . . that’s good to hear,” he finally murmured, looking away. “Good to know.”

  “Thanks for your concern,” Jack answered, leaning his hand on his shoulder. “I just hope you can forgive my attitude yesterday.”

  “Of course, of course,” Riley said with a guilty smile. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

  When the sun set behind the mountain Jebel el Kebir, the storm had already begun to subside, and the dark clouds moved toward the Atlantic, taking with them the heavy downpour and forty-knot winds.

  The ship barely bobbed in the fading surge as Riley leaned against the aft bulwark, gazing at the lights of Tangier, which looked like a small galaxy crammed with disordered stars less than two miles away.

  “What are you thinking about?” a voice behind him asked.

  “Nothing,” he answered as Elsa came up next to him. “Do you feel better?”

  “I stopped throwing up and thinking about killing myself, so I guess so.” She smiled tiredly.

  “Happy to hear. The first time is the worst.”

  “Just like almost everything,” she said.

  Riley nodded silently, looking ahead. She brought her shoulder next to his and clasped her left arm around his right.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking at the side of his face.

  “Nothing,” he answered.

  “Yeah . . .” Elsa let out a slight sigh. “You mean, nothing I need to know, right?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you thought it.”

  Riley was silent.

  “Last night didn’t mean anything to you?” she asked.

  Riley turned toward her.

  The distant lights of Tangier lit up half her face, highlighting the thin line of her nose and cheekbones, the rosy smoothness of her lips. Her wavy mahogany hair fell over her shoulders. Despite the touch of fatigue under her emerald eyes, the girl was painfully beautiful.

  “Within a week,” he said, trying to sound firm, “you’ll have gotten off in Lisbon with Helmut, and we won’t see each other again. Last night was good, but I think it’s best if we leave it there.”

  Elsa looked back quietly. In the growing darkness, Riley didn’t know if she was collecting her thoughts or about to fly into a rage.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that,” she said with a slight tremble after almost a minute. “I could stay here . . . with you.”

  “With me?”

  “On the ship. Join you guys. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone who knows medicine on board.”

  Riley raised an eyebrow. “A vet on a smuggling ship?”

  “Don’t be silly. I specialized in veterinary medicine, but I can do other things.”

  Riley reflexively shook his head. It wasn’t the first time a woman had offered to accompany him, and it never seemed like a good idea. In Elsa’s case it was unthinkable.

  “You wouldn’t like it,” he said. “Life at sea is hard, you don’t earn much money, and you live every day in danger of getting shot or going to jail. Seriously, I don’t think it’s a good career for you.”

  She stepped forward and pressed her body against his. “I wouldn’t be staying for the work.”

  Her longing eyes were almost at the same height as his, and her lips were parted slightly. He could feel the pressure of her breasts through his old leather jacket, and a surge of desire spread through his body.

  “Elsa, I . . . I can’t. Really.”

  She pulled her face back, putting distance between them again, and pointed toward Tangier. “Is it for her?”

  It took Riley a second to realize what she meant. “This has nothing to do with Carmen.”

  Elsa blinked a couple of times, confused. “Then I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Is it because of your friend Jack?” she asked. “He seems like a good guy, but really, he’s not my type.”

  “It’s not that either, and I don’t like to play guessing games.”

  Elsa crossed her arms defiantly. “I still have a week on board, and until you tell me I’m not going to stop asking.”

  Riley sighed. He leaned over the bulwark again and contemplated the black water dotted with the reflections of the African coast.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I think I would.”

  “You couldn’t,” he repeated. “You’re too young.” He breathed in and exhaled air that felt thick. “It’d be a mistake for you to stay, and an even bigger one to stay for me. Please accept my decision and don’t ask questions. Believe me, this isn’t a place for you.”

  She stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant. “If you want to say you don’t like me,” she said, annoyed, “there are simpler ways to do it.”

  “Fine, I don’t like you. Is that better?”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Fuck, how stubborn are you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “How can I make you understand that you’re making a mistake with me?” Riley said. “You have a crush on an idea of me that has nothing to do with reality. I’m just a jaded sailor who drinks to forget and has a lot of ghosts. You should follow your own path, Elsa. Find out who you are as far away as possible from someone like me.” Riley looked up at the sky.

  She waited almost a minute. “Is it because of what happened in the war?”

  Riley met her gaze, surprised. “What do you know about that?” he snapped.

  She looked afraid. “I asked Jack about the name of the boat,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “He only told me there was a horrible battle where lots of soldiers died. Lots of your friends. He also told me,” she added, putting her hand near the scar from his bullet wound, “that you were seriously wounded and lucky to survive.”

  “Lucky,” he snorted. “He told you that?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  Riley tensed his jaw and looked up at the stars. “He didn’t explain what happened there and why?”
r />   “No. He just—”

  “Good,” he said. “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Maybe it does concern me if it’s the reason you won’t let me stay.”

  Riley stared hard into Elsa’s green eyes. He exhaled hard before adding firmly, “That’s enough.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he said. “Now please go back to your cabin.”

  She hesitated, not sure whether to keep insisting.

  Riley didn’t give her the option, pointing to the closest door. “That’s an order.”

  For a moment, it seemed like she was about to throw a tantrum. She looked around with clenched fists for something to vent her frustration on. Finally, breathing heavily with eyes filled with anger, she said, “You’re an idiot.”

  Riley nodded. “I won’t argue with that.”

  22

  Eighteen hours after Riley and Elsa’s conversation, the Pingarrón was back at the buoy marking the wreck. The wind had stayed steady, and now the sea was calm and the sky blue. The clouds had left as quickly as they’d come.

  Before noon, the loading crane pulled Riley and the basket out of the water. It hit the deck with a clang. The crew quickly took off his suit and weights, then helped him out of his wetsuit, gloves, and boots. They all waited expectantly for news from Riley, who was supposed to have finished cutting the rest of the hole on that dive. His unhappy expression indicated things hadn’t gone according to plan, and no one wanted to ask.

  “Well, so?” Jack finally said, his hands on his hips. “Is it done?”

  “I couldn’t,” he said to Jack, loud enough for the others to hear. “The saw started to fail with only ten or fifteen inches left.”

  “It ate the blade again?” César asked.

  “Not this time. The blade seems okay.” He went to the basket and took it out. “I think it’s the air compressor. Take a look and see if you can fix it.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” César answered. He left for the machine room belowdecks.

  Riley turned to Marco, who was helping Jack coil the cords. “We’re both going on the next dive,” he said. “If the saw breaks again I want you down there to help. We’ll have to go in by force.”

  “With dynamite?” Marco asked eagerly.

  Riley chuckled and looked at the sky, telling him to be ready in two hours.

  Jack looked at Marco. “What, your parents never bought you firecrackers when you were a kid?”

  When the time came, the whole crew was back on deck, finishing up preparations for what they hoped would be the last dive. Riley and Marco were already in their diving suits. César and Jack made sure the equipment was ready. Julie connected the compressor and checked that the hoses were working, and Kirchner went back and forth helping whoever needed it. Everyone had fallen into a nervous silence. In less than an hour, they would know if they were going to be rich retired sailors or not.

  There was no sign of Elsa, and Riley was glad she wasn’t on deck with a sour face. Last night, she had said good-bye with something that sounded like a German insult, but to be fair, to a foreigner even “Good afternoon” resembled a curse in Goethe’s tongue.

  “Ready?” Jack asked, holding the helmet above Riley’s head.

  “Let’s finish this,” Riley said, clenching his jaw.

  Taking it as a yes, Jack put the helmet on his head and looked through the window to make sure the air was flowing or if he’d started turning blue. Riley took several breaths and gave a thumbs-up. Jack then gave him a pat on the back as he helped him into the basket, while César did the same for Marco. The saw was repaired and on the floor of the basket, along with two crowbars and several waterproof bags. When both divers were well situated, the crane lifted them above deck, then noisily lowered them underwater.

  In less than three minutes both divers touched down. They picked up their tools and entered the Phobos without needing to communicate. Still looking around corners before turning, Riley led the way down the hall before arriving at the compartment where they’d been working for two days.

  Above their heads, an accumulation of fine air bubbles had formed from the air that left their suits when they exhaled. They could have eventually caused the saw, which was designed to cut underwater, to overheat. So one of the first things they had to do was make a small hole to let the air bubbles escape.

  Riley quickly stood on the table, turned on the saw, and pressed it into the ceiling, cutting it away inch by inch. His shoulders and neck hurt from the strange position, but he smiled, knowing that César had done a great job and the tool was working perfectly. In ten or eleven minutes, the cutting will be done and we can go up.

  The sound of the saw cutting the bulkhead was excruciating. Though one would think the water would muffle the sound, it did just the opposite. The grating sound reverberating in the helmet was enough to drive anyone mad. Luckily, this allowed Riley to realize that it wasn’t working properly when the noise went from unbearable to just nasty.

  When the saw finally stopped with a rattle, he took the blade out and shook it as if that would help.

  “Mother—” he cursed. He turned to Marco to show him what had happened, but Marco had already picked up a crowbar and was handing him the other.

  Riley looked up and saw there were only four inches left to go. If they used the crowbars, they could bend the bulkhead open and finally be done with it. Riley tossed the saw aside and helped Marco onto the table. They put the crowbars in the seam and, after counting to three on his fingers, pulled with all their might.

  With a whining crunch, the steel plate bent enough to give them room to grab the edge. They clung to it and pulled down, and it separated from the ceiling like the lid of a can with one part stuck. After several minutes of effort, Riley and Marco finished peeling it off. They took a step back and looked at the open hole that would be their way into the cabin.

  Riley noticed a couple of important details. One was as anticipated and was good. The other was neither.

  On the one hand, the laws of physics hadn’t betrayed them, and the pressure of the cabin magically kept the water at bay as Kirchner had predicted. The second detail was purely practical. He had no idea how the hell they would get in there.

  The opening wasn’t a problem; it was wide enough. But the advantage of keeping the cabin filled with air was suddenly a drawback. As soon as they left the water, their 175-pound lead suits would make it very difficult to pull themselves in. If he didn’t have his helmet on, Riley would’ve slapped himself in the forehead for not bringing a damn ladder.

  Marco raised his thumb to suggest going back to the ship and coming back later with more equipment. Riley then looked at his diving watch and saw they still had more than fifteen minutes left. They should stay and try.

  At first Riley thought one of them could climb in while the other held him up, but he quickly dismissed the idea because of the enormous weight to carry and the risk of tearing the suit. He looked around for something to help them, but there was nothing big or strong enough. When he was about to give up, Marco appeared with an iron cot. Riley smiled. That’ll work.

  Once they’d managed to fit it between the table and the ceiling, Riley climbed on and poked his head through the hole like a space rabbit from its Martian burrow. He swept the room with his flashlight and, using all his strength, made it out of the water. Seconds later, Marco handed him the waterproof bags and followed him up. They stood in the middle of the destroyed cabin and looked around with their flashlights.

  Once out of the water, the incredible weight of the suit made it a struggle not to fall with every step. Unfortunately, they had no choice but to wear them, since taking off the suit and putting it back on would be impossible without other people to help. What they could do was take off the heavy helmets that limited their vision and threatened to make them fall headfirst every time they bent over. He gestured to Marco to help him take off the copper bubble with windows. Despite some difficulty, it finally came off wi
th a snap, and they placed it on the floor.

  The nauseating smell of rotting flesh smacked Riley in the face. It took him back to the old battlefields of Spain, littered with corpses no one bothered collecting that rotted in the middle of nowhere, their stench assaulting the Republican or fascist camps depending on the direction of the wind.

  “Good Lord,” he muttered, suppressing the urge to vomit and covering his nose.

  Trying to ignore the strong odor, he helped Marco take his helmet off too. When Marco took his first breath, he turned white and leaned against the nearest bulkhead, relieving himself of his breakfast.

  “Great,” Riley grumbled. “Now the place is gonna smell even better.”

  He looked around for the source of the stench. He saw a bare foot sticking out from under the mattress. Maybe the poor guy hit his head when the boat turned over.

  “Marco,” he said urgently, pointing to the safe. “Try to open it while I search the cabin.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he answered, studying it carefully.

  “Do more than that, because if not we’ll have to carry it out, and I have no idea how.”

  Marco gave him a pained look. “I said I’ll do what I can.”

  Saving his response, Riley started looking around the cabin. The whole floor was covered in pieces of broken furniture, clothing, decorations, and papers—lots of papers. Hundreds of sheets of paper as well as several books and notebooks, all with an eagle clutching the Nazi swastika in its talons. Riley didn’t know any German, so he had no way of knowing if they were top-secret documents or grocery lists.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Riley asked, turning.

  “The safe needs a key,” Marco said, perched up on a stool. “Have you seen one on the ground?”

  “A key?” he answered, looking at the chaos around them. “Are you joking?”

  “I need it to open the safe.”

  “Is that your trick for opening safes?” Riley said. “Using a key?”

  “Captain, you can be sarcastic or you can help me look. You decide,” Marco said, carefully getting down.

  Riley looked around at the disaster of a room. “But how the hell are we going to find—” He stopped when his light flashed on the dead man’s swollen foot.