Mexican Marauder (A Captain Gringo Adventure #16)

by Lou Cameron

  “I noticed. It’s more barren because it’s higher above the water and almost solid rock. We’ll be safer there. Let’s not debate it. Let’s get moving. We have to put the listening gear and supplies for a few days ashore while we can still keep the longboat afloat in these waves!”

  Gaston shook his head stubbornly and said, “Talk sense, Dick! What if something happens to this schooner? We’d wind up marooned, no?”

  “I guess so. On the other hand, do you really want to be aboard if the Nombre Nada sinks?”

  “Well, since you put it that way, why are we wasting time discussing the matter? Let us get the crack, as you Yankees say, hein?”

  *

  An hour later, Captain Gringo, Gaston, the two English girls, and their two swishy friends had set up their shore base on the barren north key. He’d suggested that the Mexicans stay with the others aboard Nombre Nada, where they’d be safer. But Tio Pepe was afraid to get any farther away from his native Mexico than he and his women already were. So, they chose to join the shore party.

  By then the wind was really blowing. So, Nombre Nada weighed anchor and let the offshore wind take her out to sea, moving pretty good, with her poles bare and her engine at half-speed holding her bow to the waves coming in against the wind. The castaways began to feel mighty lonely, even before their only link with civilization vanished in the howling night.

  It got worse before morning. No waves actually broke completely over their little dot of dry land. But some of the waves came mighty high, and the land didn’t stay dry. There was no hope of erecting a shelter that wouldn’t just blow away. So, they lashed their gear to the few tree trunks, lashed themselves as well, and simply waited it out. Naturally, nobody thought about food, sleep, or sex while frog-sized raindrops hopped all over them. The night was a long, unpleasant experience.

  But by dawn the winds had shifted around to the northeast again, and as the sun rose with the trades behind it, it promised to be a fine clear day after all. The surf was still rolling ominously all around them, but, as Captain Gringo had hoped, they’d been spared the eye of the hurricane, and as it tracked north to bother other people, even the sea began to settle down.

  The Mexican women built a fire and proceeded to make tortillas from the flour in the supply cases they’d landed. The English girls and the two mariposas got back on the line. But, even though the tap was still firmly attached to the cable out in mid-channel, nothing was being sent from either end. Clarke tested the current and said, “I think the cable must have been broken by the storm. We’ve stranded ourselves here for nothing!”

  Captain Gringo said, “Quit your bitching. Like I said, if the schooner’s still afloat, they’ll be back in a while to pick us up. If it’s not, you have only me to thank.”

  They ate and dried out. They dried out more than they really needed to as the morning wore on. Captain Gringo and Gaston rigged sunshades between the palmettos with canvas tarps. So, they managed to stay out of the direct rays of the sun, at least, but it still got hotter and hotter by the hour.

  They were all feeling wilted and listless by three. But Gaston had to take a leak anyway. He left to find some bushes. When he came back, he dropped on the white sand beside Captain Gringo and said, “We have company. I just spotted a sail to the south. At the moment it is behind that other key.”

  Captain Gringo told the others to lie low as he rose and moved to the highest ground on the key, which meant only a few paces. Gaston joined him just as the shark-fin sails of a low-slung Carib rounded the south key, headed their way. Gaston said, “That does not look like the Nombre Nada to me, Dick!”

  Captain Gringo called Tio Pepe to join them. The old turtle hunter nodded and said, “Si, that is the evil boat of that ladrón, Miguelito! But why have they returned?”

  Captain Gringo said, “Easy. They saw Nombre Nada was gone. That was the light our watch spotted last night, and I owe that guy an apology! They’re not just ladrónes, Pepe. Somebody’s paid them to keep an eye on things here!”

  “What shall we ever do, Captain Gringo?”

  As Captain Gringo moved back to their piled supplies and pulled the tarp off the one machine gun they’d brought ashore, Gaston told Pepe, “That is what he’s going to do. Find some cover and stay there. They may have this key down as deserted. If they decide to recheck, ooh-la-la!”

  Miguelito did. As the castaways watched, trying to remain invisible, the primitive sailboat came on bold as brass. Captain Gringo crouched behind the Maxim, coaxing, “Come on, guys. You can do it. Just a little closer, you motherfuckers!”

  Gaston said, “Try to spare the hull, Dick. We may need that boat.”

  Captain Gringo did. But as he didn’t want to let them hit the beach and fan out, he opened fire as the Carib’s bow slid up on the beach like a crocodile’s snout. The results were predictably messy.

  The stream of machine-gun lead raked the Carib and everything in it from stem to stem, blowing some of Miguelito’s crew overboard and others who got wedged in his fire to bloody hash. Gaston punched his arm and called out, “Enough! They’re all down and you are chewing up the boat!”

  Captain Gringo ceased fire. They waited, and, sure enough, Gaston was right. The stem of the Carib was under water, riddled with bullet holes, and nobody was moving out there. Captain Gringo said, “Cover me,” and drew his .38 to survey the results.

  Old Miguelito and two other guys lay in the bloody water of the half-sunken carib. They were never going to bother anybody again. Over the side, in the shallows, a wounded man was trying to flipper himself up on the beach like a wounded sea lion. So, Captain Gringo waded out, grabbed a fistful of hair, and hauled him ashore. Then he kicked him in the side to gain his full attention and snapped, “Who were you guys watching that cable for? Talk, pronto, or I feed you to the sharks!”

  The shot-up ladrón gasped and said, “Don’t hurt me, for the love of God! I will tell you anything, but please don’t hurt me! I need a doctor!”

  “I noticed. Who sent you guys?”

  “I do not know his name. A muy important person Miguelito has worked for in the past. We were told to make sure nobody listened in on the telegraph cable out there. Alejandro killed one diver who did. They were on a big schooner. I swear I do not know who they were.”

  “No problem. I do. Just lie there and soak up some healing rays while I see if any of you other sonsofbitches are alive.”

  There were no other survivors, and when he got back to the wounded man, he wasn’t wounded anymore. He was dead. Captain Gringo nodded and said, “That’s that, then. You can all come out now, kiddies. The party’s over.”

  So everybody had a look at the mess, and then, since it was hot as hell and nothing seemed to be happening worth frying one’s brains for, everyone but Gaston went back to the shade. Gaston waded out to examine the boat. He rejoined Captain Gringo and muttered, “Now you’ve done it. I could probably patch it up enough to float, but I am not about to trust my life to that hull on the open sea!”

  “Relax. Nombre Nada ought to be back anytime now. There’s not room enough for all of us and our gear in that tub in any case.”

  “You and I could be pratique, non?”

  “Gee, that’s what I like about you, Gaston. You’re so fucking loyal!”

  “Merde alors, loyalty stops well this side of suicide, my idealistic youth! Besides, what loyalty do we owe anyone here? We were dragooned into this foolish mission in the first place.”

  “Well, you may be right about it being foolish. Greystoke sure went to a lot of trouble to find out so little. But that’s his problem. Let’s get out of this sun.”

  They rejoined the others. Chadwick said something dumb about burying the dead. Captain Gringo said, “The rising tide will take care of ’em. Have you picked up anything from the cable yet?”

  Clarke said, “There’s no sign of any current at all. Do you suppose our induction coil could have come loose out there?”

  Captain Gringo took
hold of the insulated line, hauled in until it was taut, and said, “I don’t think so. Since the diving gears is aboard Nombre Nada, there’s no way I’m about to find out for sure. But it feels okay. There was nothing else, along that stretch of cable for the tap to snag on, and it’s, still attached to some damned thing.”

  After that, things got even duller. Gaston offered to clean the Maxim. Captain Gringo smoked a cigar and read Phoebe’s shorthand notes. He saw that she’d been telling it like it was and most of the good parts were still in the wastebasket aboard Nombre Nada. There was nothing about John Brown and Wedgwood here. When she saw what he was doing and asked why, he told her he didn’t have anything else to read. She suggested a walk to the far end of the key. He told her not to be silly. Flora pondered aloud the meanings of the messages intercepted so far, but since her notebook was on the schooner, too, he told her not to be silly either.

  The castaways lapsed into silent suffering. As the sun sank to the west, it slanted in under the awnings. But, mercifully, the trades were picking up and it was getting a little cooler. Somebody asked if he thought they were stuck here foe another night and he said they probably were. He didn’t want to talk about the supply situation. They had plenty of food. But when he opened the case he thought was filled with water bottles, he saw that some dumb sonofabitch had put a case of dynamite ashore instead. He had enough H.E. to blow up the whole place. But they were going to be in bad shape for water in a day or so. He cursed himself for not having thought to catch some rainwater during the storm. But who thought of things like that when he thought he had a whole damned case of bottled water?

  He fell asleep for a while. He didn’t feel any better when Gaston woke him. But when Gaston said why, Captain Gringo was wide awake.

  Off to the east, pink in the slanting sunlight, stood a trim steam yacht. It was a big one. The owner either had a glandular problem or a lot of money. The flag flapping over the stem was British. In these waters that didn’t mean a lot. So, Captain Gringo got back behind his machine gun as a longboat from the mysterious vessel headed their way.

  The wrecked Carib and its crew had floated away on the prevailing current during the turn of the tide. The tide was ebbing again, so there was nothing blocking his field of fire as he covered the longboat. As it got closer, he spotted a familiar figure, a grotesque one, standing in the bows like Columbus searching for the Indies. It was their old pal, Sir Basil Hakim, in the flesh. Captain Gringo knew that the dwarfish old Turk, or whatever in hell he was, seldom led a group personally unless it was very important to Woodbine Arms, Limited.

  Gaston recognized their visitor at about the same time and muttered, “Sacre God damn! So he does make Wedgwood plates! Could I change places with you, Dick? I’ve always wanted to shoot that species of insect!”

  Captain Gringo said, “Man the Maxim and cover me. But let’s not shoot him till we see what he wants.”

  Captain Gringo warned the others to lie low as well. Then he stepped out in view, strode down to the water’s edge, and called out, “Ahoy, Hakim! What the fuck do you want?”

  Sir Basil peered his way, shielding his goat like face with a hand. Then he called back, “Is that you, Captain Gringo? I say, this is jolly luck! You have your friend Gaston covering me, of course?”

  “Of course. What have you got trained on us?”

  Hakim laughed boyishly and replied, “A twenty-millimeter deck gun out there, naturally. But why are we threatening each other, dear boy? You know I’m an honest businessman, hot a brawler. May I come ashore so we can talk like gentlemen?”

  “You’re full of shit about being honest or a gentleman, but, yeah, come on in and name your pleasure. It’s only fair to warn you I don’t bend over.”

  Hakim laughed, ordered his boat crew to run the bow up on the coral, and leaped ashore lightly.

  Sir Basil Hakim was either a Turk, a Jew, a Russian, or perhaps a Greek, depending on whom your informant hated most. Somehow, sometime, he’d become a British subject and made so much money the queen had to knight him. The Merchant of Death was just too tall to call a dwarf but too short to call a full-grown man. Nobody knew for sure when he’d been born in Constantinople, Moscow, Berlin, or somewhere. So he could have been a seventy-year-old man who took good care of himself or a man of forty who’d mined his looks by dissipation and degeneracy.

  His hair and Buffalo Bill mustache and goatee were lavender white, and he wore French perfume, too. His elfin features wore the expression of a depraved Santa Claus as he held out a hand and said, “So good to see you again, Captain Gringo. You know why I’m here, of course.”

  Captain Gringo ignored the hand; he didn’t want to catch anything. He nodded and said, “Yeah, I just shot the shit out of those ladrónes you had watching the cable until you could get here.”

  “Did you indeed? Pity. Oh, well, it saves my having to pay Miguelito and his lot off. Do you want to deal, Dick?”

  “Maybe. What are you offering us?”

  “Your lives, to begin with. You know I’m a peaceful chap at heart.”

  Captain Gringo, smiled crookedly and said, “Right. You want a piece of everything. Our lives are in pretty good shape for the moment. Suppose you tell me exactly what you want?”

  Hakim nodded and said, “Information. As you know, Woodbine Arms Limited, has a finger in many a pie, and as an honest businessman I like to keep informed. I have agents of my own in both Cuban camps. I have my own taps on the communications lines I already knew about. I understand our old chum Greystoke learned of a hitherto unknown cable and sent you lot to tap it. I want to listen in. I’m going to listen in, even if it means I have to be rude to old comrades in arms.”

  Captain Gringo didn’t answer as he thought. The cable seemed to be dead in the water. Not even Greystoke could expect them to hang around until it was repaired, and they had a few tidbits of information London might be interested in. It was up to Whitehall whether Woodbine Arms sold armor plate to anybody or not. Since Hakim was said to supply the Prince of Wales with booze and dancing girls, they’d probably let him.

  Hakim grew impatient and said, “I’d like your answer, Captain Gringo.”

  The American looked down at him and said, “Okay. We have a line running to the cable out in mid-channel. They don’t seem to be sending anything today, but you never know. Suppose we turn over our listening gear to you and call it a day? What do we get out of it?”

  “My word that you and your people are free to leave, alive and unmolested.”

  Captain Gringo knew Hakim’s word was good. The little monster could swat almost anyone like a fly, and feel as much remorse. But Hakim dealt for high stakes in a business where his word had to mean something. Ergo, if the Merchant of Death gave you his word, you could count on it. Contrary wise, if you broke your word to him or lied to him, all bets were off and he’d have his agents track you to the ends of the earth. He was one dangerous little sonofabitch to deal with. But Captain Gringo had learned in the past that it could be done.

  He said, “Not good enough. Like I said, we’re forted up pretty good, and you know Gaston and I can take pretty good care of our lives. I want more.”

  “Oh? Well, since you’ve helped me economize by reducing my payroll, I suppose I could sweeten the pot. How much do you want for turning this listening post over to me and mine, Dick?”

  “Two things. I sent my schooner out to the high seas to ride out that storm. They’ll be coming back anytime now. I want your word you won’t smoke them up.”

  “Agreed. How will I know this schooner? Other chaps may stick their noses in my business, and, as I said, I have a twenty millimeter deck gun to deal with trespassers.”

  “My vessel’s the Nombre Nada. You know her, of course?”

  “Naturally. Esperanza and I are old business associates. Is she aboard?”

  “No. British crew. You hail them, tell them we’ve left, and say I said they’re to report back to Greystoke in Belize.”

  “That
sounds reasonable. You said there were two conditions?”

  “Yeah. We want a ride to Belize, too. You can’t make a landing here unless we let you. On the other hand, we’re marooned with no way to reach the mainland. Can do?”

  Hakim smiled impishly and said, “You should have told me sooner. I could just let you die of hunger and thirst, you know.”

  “I know. But it would take us a long time, and meanwhile we’d mess up the tapping gear so you’d have to start from scratch. How long were you figuring on hanging around here, Hakim? We saw a Mexican, gunboat the other day.”

  Hakim nodded and said, “I admire a chap who thinks on his feet. Very well, you turn over this listening post to me, in good repair. I agree not to harm any of your people and to put you and your party safely ashore on the mainland.”

  “Not Belize?”

  “Too far, dear boy. There’s a little Mexican port called Vigia Chico just down the coast. I’ll land you and your luggage safely there, with Miguelito’s back wages to sweeten the pot.”

  Captain Gringo scowled and said, “You call that safe? Gaston and I are wanted dead or dive in Mexico, pal!”

  “Piffle. Vigia Chico has no direct communications with Mexico City. I don’t know if there’s a rurale station there. But, knowing you, I can only hope for their sake there isn’t any. There’s a rail line running back into the bush from Vigia Chico, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Just to the local plantations. They grow bananas, I believe. There’s no Mexican army or navy post there. There are any number of fishing boats or even coastal schooners one can either hire or highjack. How do you like it so far?”

  It stinks. Can’t you even ferry us to the border of British Honduras?”

  “No. The run to Vigia Chico will already tie up my steam launch for a full day. I’m being very generous, Dick. If you won’t settle for half a loaf, we’ll just have to do things the hard way here.”

  Captain Gringo hesitated, nodded, and said, “Okay. Toss in a thousand extra for Gaston and I, and you’ve got a deal.”