Diamonds Are For Never: Crime Travelers Spy Series Book 2

by Paul Aertker

  CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

  Lucas woke up, his eyes wide in the dark night.

  His internal fear factor raised the thin hairs on the back of his neck. He and the cargo ship had sailed into international waters, a place where anything could happen. It was a dangerous spot. And he could feel it all over.

  Lucas held his breath and waited for proof.

  His first concrete clue was the distinct sound of a compressed-air cannon firing.

  Pthtt.

  Lucas sat up in his perch on top of the container.

  At the front of the ship a metal grappling hook flew over the railing. It sailed through the night and passed through the ship’s light beams. Lucas spotted the distinctive teeth on the hook as it grabbed hold of the handrails.

  Clink.

  Metal on metal.

  Someone was below.

  In the water.

  About to climb up.

  Then from the bow and the sides he saw three more hooks flying over the railing.

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  It wasn’t someone.

  It was an invasion.

  ROUGH SEAS

  Lucas stared at the grappling hooks that clung to the railing, and his eyes followed the attached ropes to where they fell over the ship’s edge and down toward the sea.

  It was quiet for a second until he saw the ropes tighten, and he heard the murmur of a motorized winch.

  Four of them buzzing in the night.

  Lucas had used a similar-sounding winch back at the hotel in Las Vegas. A simple press of a button, and the motor could pull a grown man straight up the line at nine meters a minute.

  Lucas peeled himself out of the sleeping bag and slid down the side of the container. The air was humid and chilly. He straddled a gap and swung down to the next level, climbing around to the front of the sleeping compartment where the others were. Hoping to wake his friends, he lightly tapped on the walls with his fingernails. He slowly opened the door. When there was space enough, Lucas poked his head inside.

  “Psst,” he said into the dimly lit room.

  “What?” Astrid asked. “We have to sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  “Curukians,” Lucas announced in a whisper. “At least four of them are boarding the ship right now.”

  Travis pointed his flashlight at Lucas in the doorway.

  “Behind you!” Jackknife said, suddenly awake.

  Lucas didn’t see the boy, but he heard him. He grabbed hold of the doorframe and donkey-kicked backward. He hit the boy square in the gut, and the kid didn’t move. Lucas spun and jumped down to the next container and came face-to-face with another Curukian. This was a big kid, and Lucas knew he couldn’t take him.

  Fortunately, Jackknife had his back.

  The Brazilian came flying across the top of the roof. Lucas heard him and leaned out of the way as Jackknife cut through the air. His feet jammed straight down on the boy’s collarbones. Lucas heard the crack. The Curukian clutched his clavicles and crumbled into a ball.

  Travis and Alister scrambled out of the sleeping compartment, shining flashlights on the scene.

  Curukians were swarming.

  Mac came out of the bunk room and took the black stone necklace out of his shirt. He held it up in the air. “We’re up here!” he yelled out into the night.

  They all turned and glared at Mac.

  In a way Lucas felt like he couldn’t believe what Mac had just done, but in another way he had always known something was not right.

  Astrid said, “You really are a traitor!”

  “I knew it,” Jackknife said.

  “You bunch of do-gooders,” Mac said. “Me and my buddies are going to take some of these diamonds and live like kings.”

  On the deck below they could hear several more Curukians scrambling up the containers.

  “Well, Mac,” Astrid said. “I don’t care how rich you want to be. But having people or animals die or get killed just so that you can get rich is never worth it.”

  “Think whatever you want,” Mac said. “My aunt says she doesn’t care how many elephants die or how many kids are kidnapped for us to be rich. So I’m here to get money any way I can.”

  “Who’s your aunt?” Travis asked.

  “Siba Günerro.”

  Jackknife looked like he was ready to kill Mac. “You were in on this the whole time!”

  “Yeah,” Mac said. “Good Company computers can hack into just about anything—especially New Resistance software.”

  Astrid asked, “But how did your Curukian friends find us tonight out here on the ship?”

  Mac tapped his necklace. “Wearable GPS.”

  Jackknife said, “You know we’re not giving up without a fight.”

  Mac smiled. “Suit yourself.”

  There was a painfully quiet pause, then Curukians wearing wet-suit shorts and rash guards started climbing up the containers and closing in on them. Scuba knives were strapped to their calves.

  “Astrid!” Travis called out. “Watch it!”

  Mac did a standing back flip and nailed Travis in the chest, knocking him down.

  Astrid and Kerala spun around. Both girls jumped down one level and faced off with two more Curukians. They fought side by side, punching and kicking the boys, pushing them to the back of the container. The two Curukians stumbled to the edge. Kerala nudged them both just a little and they fell to the next container, which had been knocked slanted by the storm. From there the boys slid down into a hole that had no obvious exit.

  Lucas felt the air moving by his ear. He ducked as a Curukians enormous arm swung over his head. With Lucas still squatting, Jackknife leapfrogged over Lucas’s shoulders and sprang into the air. His body twisted, and his right heel connected with the kid’s rib cage. The force threw the boy backward, and he stumbled to the end of the container, nearly falling off. He regained his balance, stooped, and extended his hand over the edge. Another Curukian grabbed hold of his arm and began climbing up. Lucas thought about stepping on the boy’s fingers, but then he heard Kerala scream.

  “Lucas! Jackknife!”

  Threatening with scuba knives, four Curukians shoved the others—Kerala, Astrid, Travis, and Alister—into the bunk room. One of the boys slammed the door and slapped a new padlock on it and tossed Mac the key.

  Everything was happening too fast.

  Another Curukian crawled up onto the container. Lucas guessed he weighed at least one hundred kilos—more than two hundred and twenty pounds. Jackknife moved in. With his forearm he struck the Curukian in the Adam’s apple just as he was standing up. The kid didn’t flinch. He rubbed his hand across his throat like he was wiping it with a napkin.

  Lucas ridge-punched the big guy in the temple, but the Curukian simply scratched his head and kept moving.

  The only tool left for Lucas was his brain. He needed to think.

  On the deck there were plenty of actual tools that they could use to defend themselves. He motioned to Jackknife, and the boys jumped to the roof of the next container and began their descent. They scrambled between the metal boxes, cutting left and right. They could hear the rumble of the Curukians climbing down after them. Lucas and Jackknife moved faster, and in a matter of seconds they dropped five floors to the ship’s deck.

  Jackknife panted, “How many are down so far?”

  “I think four, maybe.”

  “These guys are huge.”

  Jackknife and Lucas started rummaging through the debris scattered on the deck, looking for something they could use as a weapon.

  That’s when Lucas noticed the ship was barely moving. Whoever was piloting this drone ship must have slowed it down so the Curukians could board.

  Jackknife said, “How many do you think they brought?”

  “Four boats of four,” Mac said as he hopped down from a container and onto the deck. “Plus me—that makes nineteen.”

  Lucas and Jackknife exchanged puzzled looks. Lucas figured Mac was trying to make his group seem bi
gger. Neither boy corrected Mac’s math.

  Four giant Curukians emerged from behind Mac and stood with their arms crossed over their chests. In the moonlight Lucas got a better look at them. They were barefoot and bearded. But mostly they were huge.

  Names like Goliath and Sasquatch came to Lucas’s mind. He thought, How come some kids are giants, while others, the same age, are puny?

  It was true. You could be born on the same exact day as someone else, and by the time you hit ten or eleven or twelve, a girl your age could look like a movie star and you could still look like a first grader.

  Another giant approached Lucas and Jackknife and towered over them. He wore a black eye patch over his right eye.

  “Mac?” Eye Patch asked. “You know which container it is?”

  “Yep.”

  Eye Patch pointed at Lucas. “Good. We have specific instructions for the Benes boy.”

  Jackknife looked like he was about to bicycle-kick these kids. Then he let out a grunt. Four new Curukians had just tackled him from behind and laid him out on the deck.

  “Put him with the others,” Mac ordered, giving them the key.

  While they carted Jackknife away, Eye Patch squeezed Lucas around the chest and kneed him in the back, lifting him in the air. Lucas tried to kick free, but two more Curukians quickly grabbed his feet.

  “Bring him over this way,” Mac said.

  The three boys carried Lucas and shuffled him across the deck to the opening in the railing that had been blasted off during the storm.

  Lucas looked up and saw Jackknife watching.

  Clutching his wrists and ankles, the Curukians started swinging Lucas like a human hammock.

  Maybe this is just a game, Lucas thought. They aren’t really going to ...

  Mac counted as Lucas tried to wiggle out. They had him in a death grip.

  “One,” Mac said as Lucas’s body swung up to where the railing used to be.

  Lucas’s butt soared toward the moon. “Two.”

  They swung him back, and Mac drumrolled on Lucas’s belly. He called out, “Three!”

  Lucas went out over the edge of the ship, sailing into the night sky. Flying solo. He flailed his arms and tried to fly back to the boys who had just thrown him off. But this was no cartoon. A body in motion will not stop until acted upon by an external force. The next thing that would stop his fall would be the water.

  Lucas dropped. He was either going to land a back breaker or a belly buster. If he stood any chance of survival, he had to change course. He righted himself and knifed into the water. It wasn’t a pretty dive, but he managed to get his hands in front of him and save his back and belly.

  But the angle sent him deeper into his greatest fear. Dark water.

  Underwater, Lucas opened his eyes. He saw nothing but blackness. The fall from the ship’s deck had sent him down deep. He felt like a missile descending into the water. His ears tightened, and with a last bit of hope, he arched his body and aimed back toward the ship.

  He swam as hard as he could, trying to pull himself out. But it seemed to be taking forever.

  Since he couldn’t see, he thought he might actually be swimming down, farther away from the air that his lungs were desperately in need of. Above his head the ship’s engines murmured. It was to his left. His ears were loosening. He pushed and sprang out of the water and bobbed on the surface of the sea.

  The ship he had just been thrown off was about halfway past him. Even if he could swim to the hull, he wouldn’t be able to hold on to anything. The best he could hope for was to be sliced by the keel or chewed up by the propeller. At least he would die quickly, he thought. But he was even too far away for that to happen.

  The cold reality hit him. He was in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea at night. Alone. In dark water. About to drown.

  SURVIVAL OF THE MOST ADAPTABLE

  The dark always muddied Lucas’s thinking.

  He couldn’t tell if he was in a nighttime cerebral vision or if he was really drowning. Self-doubt flooded his heart, and a voice in his head told him it was already over. He had failed, and he should give in and die.

  Lucas pushed the thoughts back. He reached out of the water and gulped in a huge breath. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and filled his lungs with air.

  He knew what was happening. He was not dreaming. He was drowning.

  His head sank again below the surface of the water. He couldn’t see what he needed to do. But the unknown and the unexpected were the very things that made Lucas calculate the hardest and took him the furthest. This time he would have to dig even deeper.

  Everything the woman with long black hair had told him came to mind.

  He had been in dark water before—in Tierra del Fuego when his adoptive mother had saved him. This time there was no mother to save him. No New Resistance. No ice chest. There was only Lucas.

  Then he heard his own voice. “Never give up. Never. Ever.”

  Determination coursed through his veins.

  Lucas lurched up and inhaled again, and on this breath seawater filled his nose. The salt burned his nostrils, and the water shocked his whole system like he had been electrocuted. He coughed and started treading water.

  Just as Lucas’s lungs were filling with air, one of the boats that the Curukians had used to board the cargo ship hit him in the head. The rubber dinghy rode over Lucas and shoved him underwater. They had left it attached to the Leviathan.

  He wasn’t out of trouble yet, but he wasn’t dead, either.

  If he could get on the dinghy, he could at least float with the Leviathan to Barcelona. He wouldn’t have to drown.

  Lucas went back down, and the dinghy passed over him. Alone again. Had he missed his chance?

  He stabbed at the water and chased after the little boat. He swam harder than he had ever swum in his whole life. Kick paddle paddle. In those few moments Lucas was sure he was setting an Olympic record in freestyle. Arm stroke after arm stroke. He focused on his kicking, knowing that it would propel him through the water faster and straighter.

  He was still maybe two meters behind the dinghy. He was only keeping up. He wasn’t gaining. And he knew he couldn’t maintain the pace for long. He pushed harder and dug deeper, his hands cupped for maximum propulsion.

  His left hand hit something. His finger just grazed it. It was fuzzy and long like a snake. He flutter-kicked super fast, and his hand touched the object again. It was a rope dragging in the water, and it was attached to the little boat.

  With both hands he clawed at the rope. He had it. But it was slipping. Lucas swirled the rope and hitched it around his left forearm. He turned over and hoped it would hold.

  The rope tightened around his arm and dragged him through the sea. The water coned over his head, creating a cocoon where he forgot about the darkness around him. But Lucas knew he couldn’t stay in this position long.

  Lucas spun and shimmied up the rope to the back of the dinghy. With his last joule of energy, he flung himself over the side and into the boat and crawled to the bow. Wet and cold, he huddled there among a nest of climbing ropes, wishing for something to drink and shivering from exhaustion.

  He closed his eyes, and somewhere in the early hours of the new day, sleep came to him.

  IF YOU CAN’T BEAT ’EM

  Lucas felt the light and the heat.

  He flung the blanket of ropes off him and looked out from the little boat. He had no idea where he was. The sun was low in the western sky, and the Leviathan was churning northward, dragging him and the dinghy along.

  The sun is setting? he thought I slept all day?

  Lucas sat up and tried to get his bearings.

  He kept watch for at least an hour, and then to the northwest, a land mass appeared. Lucas rubbed his eyes. The coastline was dotted with powerboats and sailboats zipping across the water. He figured they were about two and a half kilometers, about one and a half miles, offshore. Soon a ferryboat passed nearby with the name Islas Balea
res written on the side. They were in the Spanish waters near Mallorca.

  At the speed the Leviathan was traveling, they wouldn’t make Barcelona until the next morning. Lucas knew he couldn’t spend another night in the dinghy by himself, with no food or drink. He needed to make a move.

  Hoping to find something for his thirst, he opened a small stow box that was located under the seat. There were no drinks, but he did find a treasure trove of other useful items.

  First there was a compressed-air cannon the Curukians had used to board the ship. Next Lucas found a harness and a motorized winch. At the bottom of the box he found a set of titanium scuba knives and a wet suit.

  An idea blossomed.

  Lucas’s hair and clothes were damp and crusted with salt from his swim earlier that morning. He quickly changed into the wet-suit shorts and shirt and slipped on the climbing harness. With a neoprene wrap he strapped a diver’s knife to his calf. Then he coiled the ropes he had slept in and looped them over his shoulder.

  With the press of a button the winch pulled him up from the dinghy to the ship’s deck. It took about three minutes to cover the distance.

  In a way, having been thrown overboard helped his situation. He had been gone for almost a full day, and everyone would think that he was dead.

  With the sun setting behind him, Lucas hurdled the railing and landed on the deck, where his bare feet squeaked. From somewhere on the other side of the containers he could hear voices.

  Lucas moved along the perimeter. He threaded himself through the maze of metal boxes and took up a position close to the front of the ship. There he squatted behind a container door that was swinging on one broken hinge. He peered through the crack between the door and the container.

  The Curukians had clearly taken over, with Mac in charge. At the front of this open area Mac had managed to create a makeshift office with a desk, chair, and couch. He was leaning back in his seat, pretending to smoke a cigar.

  In a matter of one day each boy had staked out a section of the deck for the stuff he presumably wanted to steal. It looked like a small flea market.