by Lyle Howard
Neither man needed an interpreter to explain the gravity of their current situation. Working like drones in a hive, the remaining crew of the Paladin was hard at work replenishing supplies for the Nocturne!
Twenty Seven
The cabin where Cal and Artie were led to at gunpoint was a far cry from the cramped cell where they had spent the last three hours. As both men surveyed the room, they had to remind themselves that they were still onboard a yacht and not inside some ritzy New York penthouse. The carpeting that floored the cavernous room was a rich blood red shade, inlaid with an ornate gold herringbone pattern. Above their heads, three spectacular chandeliers sparkled from the towering ceiling, and, across the room, the most beautiful red slate pool table that Cal had ever laid his eyes on. This was the caliber of table most of his customers would have killed just to make a single lag on.
“Keep it moving,” commanded one of the recruits who were ushering them into the room. “Hey, what have you two guys been using for cologne?” the second one asked as he jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into the pit of Artie’s back. “Pickle brine?”
The deputy begrudged each step, turning back to snarl at the recruit every time the tip of the gun poked at his spine.
The cabin seemed to be well ventilated, but not enough to suit either recruit’s taste. There was an awful stench wafting off the two prisoners—a combination of nervous perspiration and evaporated seawater. It wasn’t like either man was enjoying the malodorous scent they were putting out, and both would have given their right pinkies for a bar of soap, a hot shower, and a fresh change of skivvies.
“Push me one more time, sailor-boy,” Artie growled, “and you’ll be spitting molars!”
Cal nudged his friend in the ribs. “They don’t call themselves sailors around here, Artie. That’s the Navy.”
Geiger looked at his friend like he was a liar. “Now’s the time you choose to teach me a lesson on military protocol? Really? Aren’t we on a boat? And aren’t we on the ocean?”
Cal shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still not a sailor.”
Artie rolled his eyes. “Aw, that’s bullshit.”
“Your friend’s correct, Deputy Geiger,” Captain Crawford confirmed, as he stepped ahead of the two men into the center of the massive room. “In the Coast Guard, these young men are considered recruits.”
Artie shrugged. “Yeah, whatever…”
Pushing through the bottleneck in the doorway, the impeccably dressed civilian strode into the room and walked directly over to a glass-topped desk. Everything about the man exuded class, from the spit-shined Italian loafers to the slight gloss of styling gel that kept his dark hair neatly plastered in place. He moved like he owned the joint ... which he did. Taking a seat behind the desk, he leaned backward, his fingers toying with his lips as he contemplated the troublemakers standing before him.
During the awkward silence that followed, so many thoughts were racing through Cal’s mind. First and foremost, he hated being ogled like a slab of meat. He couldn’t stand it when women did it to him in the bar, and he certainly didn’t appreciate the feeling now. Secondly, he was having a difficult time grasping the true magnitude of this situation. Who was this guy, and how could he possibly have the United States Coast Guard condoning whatever he was up to?
They wouldn’t have to wait long for the answers...
The man behind the desk spoke in what to Cal sounded like a Slavic accent. “What a grand specimen you are. Tell me, have you ever taken steroids or human growth hormones to achieve your impressive physique?”
“You talking to me?” Geiger interrupted, flashing a sarcastic smile.
The man behind the desk shot the pathetic deputy a contemptuous look.
“Let’s make this quick, Von Robles,” Crawford chided, checking his wristwatch. “As soon as we’re through loading, I’ve gotta get my vessel outta here.”
Von Robles intertwined his fingers and rested them on the desk. “You can cast off anytime you wish, Captain,” he said, in his best fractured English. “As per our agreement, your prisoners will be staying with us.”
Crawford nodded. “Sure, that’s fine with me. I can tow their boat a few miles further out and scuttle it.”
Von Robles stood up and held out his right hand. “That will be perfect. It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Captain.”
Crawford clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m just following my orders, mister. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Cal reached over and seized Crawford by the sleeve. “Hey, you’re not just gonna leave us here, are you? We’re American citizens for God’s sake!”
The captain could only look down at the mesmerizing pattern in the carpeting. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mackey. You should have stayed behind your bar and stuck to stuffing cherries into fruit drinks. You’re in international waters. I have no more say in the matter.”
“But this guy is a kidnapper, and who knows what else? You can’t just let him get away with this!”
Artie Geiger stepped forward. “You mean to tell me that this piece of Euro-trash can just pull up to American soil and start plucking people onto his boat and it doesn’t matter to you? He wasn’t in international waters then!”
Von Robles was grinning, finding this all very amusing.
Crawford grimaced at the rugged man preening behind the desk and took a step toward him. “When these two men first told me their story, I couldn’t believe my ears. I figured there was no way you would ever attempt to set foot on dry land—especially American dry land!”
Von Robles tried to make light of the incident. “Captain,” he said, in his most condescending tone. “It was a minor excursion. I can assure you it will not happen again.”
The corner of the captain’s mouth twitched angrily and his hands balled up into fists. “You have explicit orders as to your obligations and restrictions. This transgression is clearly a violation of the agreement!”
Cal couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Three people had vanished and all these assholes could argue about was whether or not Von Robles’ feet got soggy when he walked off the boat!
“My daughter is a headstrong individual, Captain. The tremendous storm we encountered made some of our navigational equipment malfunction, which, in turn, sent our ship off course. When the weather cleared, the colorful lights coming from shore proved too much for her curiosity. It was a weak moment I must admit, but I did not know that indulging her would cause this much problems. I will need to talk to you about my daughter in private. Can we have a moment?”
The two men stepped out of the cabin and spoke. Cal could clearly hear there was a brusque negotiation going on, but he couldn’t tell what they were bargaining for. When they returned, the captain was muttering to himself.
Crawford brushed the toe of his shoe against the grain of the carpet. In his lifetime, he’d never be able to afford anything of such quality. “Well,” he hesitated. “As far as this transgression on American soil goes, just see that it doesn’t happen again, or I’ll have no choice but to report it.”
Cal looked at Artie in disbelief. “That’s it? A slap on the wrist?”
Crawford checked his watch again. “Yep, that’s it. We’re done here.”
“But, you can’t leave here without us,” Geiger argued.
Crawford raised a sorrowful eyebrow at the deputy. “I’m afraid so. Sorry gentlemen.”
Cal stepped to the side and blocked the captain’s path out. “Uh-uh. You’re not gonna just walk away from this. I don’t know what’s going on here, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I intend to find out.”
Crawford raised his arm. “Outta my way, mister!”
Cal never wavered, even as he heard the rifles behind him being brought up to eye level. “You wanna shoot me?” Cal snarled as he reached around and, to the shock of one of the recruits, snatched his rifle. “This isn’t a toy, kid. Only point it at someone if you mean it!”
He shoved t
he butt of the rifle at the captain. “You shoot me,” he seethed. “I think it’s time you had some of the blood of innocent American citizens on your hands!”
A curious expression came over Von Robles’ face. Who was this amazing man? he wondered. He was no ordinary barkeep, that much was for sure. With such contempt for authority, and a seemingly unlimited supply of courage and skill, it was easy to see how he had gotten the better of most of his crew.
The captain tossed the rifle back to the recruit and gave the young man a disapproving glare. “Get out of here!”
“But sir...” the recruit stammered.
“Out of here ... now!” Crawford barked. “And tell Lieutenant Wolcott to prepare to get underway.”
Cal and Artie shared a knowing smile, as the two recruits backed sheepishly out of the doorway, leaving the four men standing alone in the enormous cabin. It would probably be awhile before the lieutenant would be preparing to go anywhere!
Crawford walked over to the billiard table and picked up the blue number two ball and rolled it between his hands. “I had a son,” the captain began.
Artie looked over at Cal, wondering where this was leading to.
Von Robles once again took his seat behind the desk and listened.
“He was a big, strapping kid. I thought I had given him everything he needed...” There was an undeniable sadness in the captain’s voice as he rolled the ball onto the table and watched it miss one of the side pockets. “Brand new car, first class education at only the finest private schools—I mean, what else could a nineteen year old want nowadays?”
Cal could see the captain’s shoulders suddenly hunch over, making him look frail and vulnerable.
“Maybe if I had been around more to give him some...” he searched for the right words. “...direction or guidance. Lord knows, his mother had enough on her plate without me being there most of the time. Raising three kids practically by herself. Maybe she could have been more attentive to him, but jeez… He was nineteen! He was all grown-up for Pete’s sake!”
Von Robles shifted in his chair.
“Well...” Crawford continued, “I guess he started running around with the wrong crowd. He stayed out for days on end. Ended up totaling the car. My wife never heard from him unless he was calling to tell her he wasn’t coming home. Never had any idea where he was hanging out. Whether he was alive or dead...”
As a sheriff’s deputy, Artie had heard this tale of woe all too often. Roofies, crack—whatever the drug de jour was, the story always ended the same tragic way.
Crawford snatched a ball from the table and hurled it against a wall. The thunderous outburst caught everyone by surprise. “Next time I saw my boy...” he murmured, “...they were lowering his casket into the ground!”
Cal couldn’t help but be moved by the captain’s anguish, but what did any of this have to do with Von Robles and this yacht? “I’m really sorry for the loss of your son, Captain, but somehow the relevance of your story eludes me right now.”
Crawford struggled to regain his composure. “My story is a typical one of thousands happening everyday around the world, Mr. Mackey. I’m sure you read the newspapers, listen to the nightly news. Drugs are out of control and no politician’s rhetoric, no ‘just say no to drugs’ propaganda, can stem the tide of narcotics washing up on our shores.”
“I’m not following you,” Cal admitted.
Von Robles swiveled in his chair. “This is where I and others like me enter the picture, Mr. Mackey. You see, I have a very, shall we say, unique defect in the composition of my body chemistry. Much to my regret, I have been cursed with an incredibly rare disease called hypohemocemia. It affects less than ... well, I don’t know the exact numbers, but, suffice it to say, I am one of only a handful of people to suffer from this particular disorder. It mostly affected people from the small village near Glazov where I grew up.”
Cal tried to break down the name of the disease in his mind. He knew that hypo-gly-cemia was low sugar level, so what would hypo-hemo-cemia be? He recalled from his elementary school science classes that hemo meant blood. So, what would that be? Low blood level? The man needed blood transfusions? Like a vampire? No way!
Artie was lagging a few steps behind, still trying to decipher the correlation between the influx of drugs and an enormous yacht like the Nocturne.
“In my native country,” Von Robles explained, “it was very easy to keep supplied with the key nutrients my body needs to sustain itself. I would move through the impoverished and homeless neighborhoods, selecting only the qualified candidates for my sustenance. It wasn’t much of a life, but then you play the hand that you are dealt.”
Cal stepped forward. “So you’re telling me you traveled around your country, killing homeless people and drinking their blood so you could survive?”
Artie’s eye’s widened. “Say what?”
Von Robles waggled his finger. “No, no. You are making me out to be a ghoul or something. I do not go around biting the necks of innocent people. You have been watching too many late night horror movies on your American television. That is not at all how it was. I would simply get the nourishment I required through a basic, and hygienic, transfusion process.”
Cal glared at the man behind the desk. “But this isn’t like chugging down a glass of orange juice to get you back on your feet. When you’re done with your victims, they’re dead, right? Why not just consume those bags of plasma they use in hospitals for blood transfusions?”
Von Robles sprang out of his seat. “I would never trust a random container of plasma! I don’t know who it came from! Besides, you never saw such squalor and filth that my people were living in! I was being merciful, ending their anguish!”
Geiger had his hand over his mouth. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing!”
Cal looked over at the Coast Guard captain like he was dirt that he had just scraped off the bottom of his shoe. “And what turned your attention to the United States?”
It took a few moments for Von Robles’ anger to settle back down. Even in this rejuvenated state, he wasn’t supposed to get excited. “A civil war, Mr. Mackey. Rocket fire, rioting in the streets, pestilence, need I be more graphic for you? Like so many breakaway countries, mine was torn to shreds by infighting and political ne’er-do-wells all clamoring for a position at the top of the new government. Before you could blink your eyes, my country was in ruins. The smoldering corpses littered the streets like old newspapers. My supply of faceless offerings had dried up like the river that skirted the city.”
“You tryin’ to tell me that this dude kills people for their blood?” Artie blurted out.
Crawford picked up the cue ball and began flipping it in the air with one hand. “But now he has a purpose, Mr. Geiger. He works for us!”
Cal looked around the room. It was all starting to come together. This luxury yacht that no one would ever suspect. The restrictions placed on Von Robles about not being able to step foot on American soil. The transfer of supplies at sea.
“Works for who?” Artie asked.
Cal chimed in before Crawford could answer. “The United States Government,” Artie. “The DEA, if I had to take a guess.”
Crawford’s face remained blank.
“You see, Artie,” Cal started to clarify, as he began to pace. “Somehow, and I’m sure the particulars aren’t important, the U.S. government finds out about this guy’s problem. I’ve gotta figure Von Robles here came up with the idea because no one in our government could ever be this clever. He proposes that they deck him out with this yacht to cruise the Caribbean.”
“For what?” Artie asked.
“Let me finish...” Cal said, pointing over at the captain as though he represented the entire United States Government. “They fill the yacht with the most sophisticated radar and tracking equipment known to man. Trust me on this: I’ve seen it on the bridge. It can pick up a gnat wiping its ass a hundred miles away.”
“And?”
�
�And so they let him roam the waters of the most heavily trafficked route for drug smugglers between South America, Cuba and the southeastern coast of North America. You see, most of these smugglers are really pirates at heart, Artie. You’re always hearing and reading the accounts of these bastards boarding affluent-looking ships just like this one, and then killing the occupants for their money and valuables. No one would ever suspect a yacht like this of being a lure, but I’ll bet it draws the smugglers to it like bugs to flypaper! And even if the yacht doesn’t entice them, they nail the traffickers with their radar. Look at the thugs he has onboard; they could take care of any struggle a boatload of smugglers might manage to put up!”
The lightbulb was beginning to illuminate over Artie’s head.
“Am I on the right track here?” Cal asked the captain.
Crawford nodded. “Close enough, but one fact you should know. Since the outset of this policy three years ago, the amount of contraband seized has nearly tripled while the price on the streets for the pushers and end-users has quadrupled. It’s everything the DEA, and the American people I may add, could have hoped for. The tide of war on drug smuggling is turning. Within the first six months of our agreement, a dozen more nations have signed on. Have you heard anything lately about those Somali pirates that used to be headline news? They were terrorizing the east coast of Africa seizing ships and ransoming hostages. Nothing … nada … zilch. This vessel is just one of many highly-efficient predators stationed at various trouble spots around the world.”
Cal pointed a finger at each man. “So you get the dope, and Von Robles gets the smugglers’ blood. Does that pretty much tie a bow on it?”
