Vengeance from the Deep - Book Two: Blood of the Necala

by Russ Elliott

  Peeling off several large bills from the roll, Kota handed them to the trembling man. “Here. This will cover the damages.” Kota then looked down at the little dog—the breed impossible to identify. He peeled off another bill. “And get a new dog!”

  Kota turned his attention to Kolegwa and motioned him to get the briefcase from under the bed. A distant siren approached. The hotel manager inched toward the doorway, keeping his back to the wall while the tribesmen quickly gathered their belongings. The small crowd looking through the window scattered when the two men emerged from the room. Red flashing lights illuminated the scene.

  That didn’t take long, Kota thought, and quickly surveyed the area.

  Shirt and shoes in one hand, briefcase in the other, Kolegwa followed Kota along the hallway away from the lights and sounds of the law. The two dark figures descended the stairwell and disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot. When they reached the Jeep, Kolegwa finally spoke, his tone defensive. “I just free little men from cage.”

  Kota pulled the keys from his pocket and shook his head. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

  ~~~

  Beneath a sliver of moon, the gray jeep wound along a lonely road until it reached the Simon’s Town Naval Headquarters. Passing the long building, Kota turned onto a dark, deserted dirt road that led to the back of the naval airport. He handed an unfolded map to Kolegwa who sat silently in the passenger’s seat.

  The click of the parking brake seemed overly loud in the silence. Kota dipped his finger into a small leather pouch. It contained a substance composed of ground-up pliosaur teeth, found in the shallows of the lagoon, mixed with white paint and minerals indigenous to the island—a concoction believed to give the wearer the same powers as Kuta-keb-la . . . the power to kill and never be destroyed!

  After carefully painting the familiar spiked shape on their faces, the two grabbed their machetes, and walked to the back of the jeep.

  Adorned in a loincloth, machete clenched between his teeth, and a five-gallon gas can in each hand, Kota headed toward the airport silently on bare feet. Kolegwa brought up the rear, equally equipped. They crept along the edge of the woods and passed an old colonial-style house. A lit window on the second story seemed to float in the night sky.

  Just past a small clearing, they saw the back of the airport. They proceeded until a chain-link fence appeared in the mist. On the other side of the fence, fading moonlight danced across the windows and rotors of at least a dozen Agusta LUH helicopters. The moon slowly disappeared. Not uncommon to the Cape area, a thick veil of fog had moved in from the bay and descended on the compound.

  The perfect night.

  Kota reached the chain-link fence first. They set the gas cans in the tall grass. He slipped a pair of wire cutters from behind the leather band of his loincloth. A few dozen snips, and a small circle of fence fell to the inside.

  Kota stepped through first and slowly scanned the dimly lit area. “Good, no guard dogs,” he whispered. The two crept forward into the mist.

  Suddenly, a flashlight appeared, beaming through the landing gear of the helicopters. Footsteps drew closer. A flash of light glistened off Kolegwa’s shoulder. “Who goes there?”

  The tribesmen put the gas cans down and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the helicopters. Less than a minute later, the light went out, permanently.

  ~~~

  At three forty-five a.m., the telephone shrilled loudly in Kate’s airport office. Two, three, four times. John’s snoring continued while Kate fumbled for the cell phone. “Hello?”

  “Is this Alexander Aviation?” asked a deep voice.

  “Yes . . . yes, it is!” said Kate, unable to place the voice.

  “Is John there? John Paxton?”

  “Yeah, hold on for a minute!” Kate nudged John until the snoring stopped. “Here, it’s for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t sound familiar. Here.”

  “Is it the admiral or Tom?” John asked, sitting up.

  “I said I don’t know.”

  John took the phone and greeted the caller with a hello. Then he looked at Kate in bewilderment.

  “Who is it?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know. When I answered, all I heard was a click followed by a dial tone.”

  ~~~

  Leaving the roadside telephone booth, Kota opened the door of the jeep. He slid inside and smiled at Kolegwa. “Looks like we’ve got one more stop to make tonight. The hunt will soon be over!”

  ~~~

  Twenty minutes later, the black jeep rolled into a dimly lit parking lot. Sliding out, Kota and Kolegwa stayed low and in the shadows as they crept to the small office. Kota raised a business card taken from John’s wallet. He compared it to the name on the building: Alexander Aviation. A match.

  Carefully, the two silhouetted figures headed around to the back of the building. Moonlight revealed only their half-painted faces and glistening blades as they walked beside a long row of hedges. At the back door of the small building, Kota peered over the hedge into a window of the dark office.

  “They must be out,” he whispered to Kolegwa. He peered behind the building. Beyond a chain-link fence, he saw a vintage military helicopter sitting on the landing pad, the Alexander Aviation logo painted on its side. He lowered his hand to the wire cutters at his hip, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he grinned. “Ah. That’s okay. We’ll wait.”

  ~~~

  An ear-piercing scream shattered the serenity of the airport office. “Noooo!” John lunged, reaching into the night.

  Startled, Kate woke and found John lying halfway off the couch as if reaching down from the doorway of the helicopter. She helped him back up onto the couch and cradled his head in her lap. He was soaking wet. His heart was pounding like a drum. “Shhhh,” she whispered. She rubbed his sweat-streaked hair as he continued to stir in his sleep. “It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. It’s all gonna be okay.”

  Staring into the night, she said it one more time as if to convince herself, “It’s all gonna be okay.”

  But she knew it was a lie. John’s nightmares were for real.

  Captain Porter paused at the starboard rail, winded from his morning jog around the main deck of the Indian Princess. She was a good ship. Small by today’s standards—only three hundred seventy-five feet long and carrying just over four hundred passengers—but she was just the right size for him. At sixty-two years old, he was the picture of self-content as he eased his hands along the rail. He paused, taking a moment to watch the rising sun slowly dissolve the morning haze.

  It was the last day of their nine-day Atlantic cruise. They had visited several West African islands, including the ever-popular St. Helena: a small remote island best known as the site of Napoleon Bonaparte’s exile. Now, it was good to be back in the warm, green Cape waters. Drying his face with the towel draped over his shoulders, he descended two flights of stairs to the lower level.

  He entered the galley and smiled at the organized chaos. He shouted over the noise of clanking plates, “How’s it coming? Everything still on schedule?”

  From behind a large, stainless steel bowl, a robust man in chef’s attire gave him the thumbs-up. “With time to spare, Captain . . . time to spare!” He slid a glass of lemonade across the counter.

  Captain Porter nodded gratefully. He sipped it while inspecting the items being prepared along the counter. Sixty pounds of roast beef simmered in large pans, its sweet aroma filling the air.

  “Mmm, scrumptious.” The captain turned his attention to a nearby cooler. Behind the glass, dozens of desserts sparkled, ranging from cheesecakes to sorbets. Completing his inspection of the galley, he walked through a set of swinging doors and entered the pride and joy of the Indian Princess: the grand ballroom.

  As always, the majesty of the ballroom took his breath away. Rows of ornate crystal chandeliers adorned the vast ceiling. A marble walkway meandered through exquisitely set tables an
d led to a hand-carved wooden bar. On either side of the bar, two columns boldly reached up to the thirty-foot ceiling. Long horizontal windows spread across the port side added to the room’s openness, offering a spectacular view of the blue-green waters.

  The captain ambled among employees feverishly setting the room for a formal party. At the top of a ladder, a woman was hanging a glass starburst decoration from one of the chandeliers. At the opposite end of the room, another employee secured the end of a long banner above the doorway. Across the blue vinyl, silver letters read: Congratulations, Wattington Diamonds.

  The captain approached one of the columns where several people were inflating silver foil balloons with helium. He watched one balloon gracefully float upward until it bounced lightly on the ceiling, joining hundreds of others. He smiled at the brilliance of these balloons in the chandelier light. He paused at the room’s focal point: a twenty-by-thirty-foot glass bottom dance floor that peered straight down into the open sea. Like a sparkling sapphire, water beneath the glass bathed the room in a shimmering blue hue.

  A bubbly waitress joined the captain. “Hypnotic, isn’t it?” she said, staring in awe at the waters before her. “The other day I stood right in the middle of that glass. . . . felt so free, like I was walking on the ocean.”

  The captain nodded proudly. “Yes, it’s extraordinary. Designed an entire ship around that piece of Lexan glass. The pontoon-shaped hull’s nothing less than an engineering marvel, and one of only two in the world.” He looked up at the suspended stars and exotic decorations. “Yes, indeed, this is going to be one brilliant party!”

  ~~~

  The shrill ring of a cell phone shattered the morning serenity of the airport office.

  John opened his eyes to find Kate practically on top of him. He felt the warmth of her body pressed against his chest and didn’t want to move. Her eyes slowly opened, glittering in the morning light. She smiled, and they stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment until another ring broke the spell.

  Slipping off John, Kate reached to the end table, and fumbled for the phone. When she finally answered, her eyes flew open. “It’s my mom . . . hurry, turn on the news. Channel eight!”

  John quickly turned the television to channel eight and saw an enormous ball of fire appear on the screen just below the word “LIVE.”

  Kate said into the phone, “Okay, I got it on.”

  John asked, “What is it?”

  She lowered the phone. “That’s the Simon’s Town Naval Compound,” she explained. “It was broken into during the night and set afire. They lost everything except a few choppers.”

  John sat down in front of the television and raised his hand to his forehead. “No, no. This can’t be happening. The timing couldn’t be worse—we need as many eyes in the air as possible!”

  Kate nodded, then held up a finger. “Oh, no. I’m afraid there’s more. The guard on duty was murdered.”

  Then John saw his face appear on the screen as Kate continued, somberly, “And a wallet with your driver’s license in it was found beside the body.”

  ~~~

  In the ship’s grand ballroom, the men wore tuxedos, and the women, elaborate gowns. Glass stars twinkling beneath crystal chandeliers transformed the ceiling into a night sky. Couples swirling on the transparent floor appeared to be dancing on the blue sea below them. In fact, the room echoed in lights, shadows, and blue hues as its wide window shades blocked out the late afternoon sun.

  In a corner of the room, two heavyset black women sat at a table with two well-behaved little girls. “Would you like another soda from the bar?” Joyce raised her voice above the ballroom music.

  “No, thanks. I’m still not finished with this one,” replied Thelma, looking toward the crowded dance floor.

  “Okay. What about you two?” No response. Joyce snapped her fingers to get the attention of her twin daughters.

  “No thanks, Mom. We’re okay, too,” replied one of the five-year-olds, both nodding without taking their gaze from the hundreds of silver balloons pressed against the ceiling.

  “Well, I’ll be back in a minute. You two be good for Aunt Thelma now.”

  Joyce rose from her chair and immediately felt as if all eyes were on her. Normally, she wasn’t the self-conscious type, feeling that she carried her two hundred pounds of JOYCE quite well, but this was peculiar. After a quick glance down the front of her teal gown to make sure everything was still in check, Joyce made her way along the marble walkway toward the bar. Passing a table, she heard a couple laughing behind her. As she passed the glass-bottom dance floor, a man swooped down in front of her. He waved a dollar bill in front of her face and yelled in a drunken slur, “Hey, baby! I’ll take two!”

  Suddenly, Joyce felt something rip from the back of her gown. It was Thelma, holding up a piece of paper that read, “Table dances 50 cents.”

  Joyce turned around and saw two young black boys laughing hysterically near their table.

  Thelma ripped the paper in half. “Those two juveniles! They must have slipped this in the back of your chair when you sat down. Too bad we can’t just toss ’em overboard.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Joyce said with a deep sigh as she adjusted the front of her gown. “That little pork chop over there, the one still laughing, is James Wattington—the son of the Guest of Honor.”

  “Well, isn’t that the way,” Thelma tsk’d as she walked back to her table.

  ~~~

  “Cuz! That was slammin’. Let’s do it again. How about that wide load rollin’ off the dance floor? She looks pretty good!” said Earl with a malicious grin.

  “Naaah, we better keep it down low for a while. Even though it’s my old man’s party, we can still get tossed outta here,” replied the heavyset James. “Besides, I just got off being grounded yesterday.” He paused, and then his eyes brightened. “I know! Let’s go back to the dance floor and see if any cool fish have shown up yet.”

  The boys hurried over to one of the raised, wood-framed corners of the floor. Blue light shimmered on their faces. For several minutes, they watched a couple of snook swimming beneath the glass, attracted to the lights illuminating the bottom of the dance floor.

  Boredom quickly set in for the boys. Earl looked up from the glass. “These fish are lame. I wanna see something tight . . . like sharks!”

  James looked back with a widening smile. “I’ve got an idea. Follow me!” He struggled to get up, his tight-fitting tuxedo hindering his efforts. He grabbed at the back of his pants. “Ouch! These pants keep giving me a wedgie.”

  Keeping one eye out for their parents, the two boys crept along the edge of the dance floor, ducking behind the crowd. They passed the DJ booth and stopped at a corner just outside the galley. Then, when no one was looking, they slipped through the set of steel doors leading inside the galley. The room was alive with the clatter of plates and pans.

  Kneeling behind two large garbage cans, James pointed at the counter on one side of the room. “Okay, here’s the plan. Look over there. See those two pans of roast beef sitting on that counter?”

  “No way, dawg! How are we gonna get those outta here without them seeing us?”

  “Don’t punk out,” James whispered sharply. “Just leave that to me. When you hear a commotion, just throw both chunks of beef into that big yellow bucket in front of the table and jet for the back door. I’ll meet you up on the main deck. And make sure you get the juice from the pans too. That’s where all the blood is!”

  “Hold up!” Earl said. “How come I gotta be the one that jacks the meat?”

  James pointed down to his beefy body. “Who looks like they can run faster . . . me or you?”

  Earl grinned. “I hear ya, cuz.”

  Carefully, James ducked low behind the long counter and crawled past the chef until he reached the opposite side of the galley. He stopped behind two enormous stacks of plates, each about three feet tall. The moment the chef looked the other way, James placed his hands on
the columns of plates and pushed with all his strength.

  The tremendous crash echoed above the music from the ballroom. Instantly, the chef dropped his cleaver and raced to the back of the galley to investigate. When the chef disappeared around a corner, Earl seized the opportunity and moved out.

  ~~~

  Ten minutes later on the main deck, Earl anxiously waited by the starboard rail, the full bucket of roast beef at his feet. Finally, James appeared, carrying a milk crate and a ball of kite string.

  “What took you so long?” asked Earl.

  James dropped the crate onto the deck. “I had to get this crate. Then I went back to my cabin and got my kite string and my Mom’s pantyhose.” He chuckled wickedly. “Oh yeah . . . how’d you like my diversion?”

  “Dawg, that was serious!” Earl laughed. “My ears are still ringing!”

  James handed Earl the pantyhose. “Hold these open so I can shove the roast beef into them. It’ll help keep it all together and still let the juices seep through.”

  As James shoved in the second piece of roast beef, Earl shook his head in doubt. “You sure you gonna be able to fit all that into these pantyhose?”

  Shoving in another piece of meat, James grinned, “This ain’t nothing, dawg. You oughta see my Aunt Ritha. She stuffs a whole lot more than this into hers!” He tied the top closed.

  They dropped the beef-stuffed pantyhose into the milk crate. While James tied the string to the sides of the crate, Earl wedged the bucket full of bloody juices between the meat and a corner of the crate.

  “You sure kite string is gonna be strong enough to handle all this?” Earl asked.

  “It’s actually real strong fishing line. After losing three kites, my old man got tired of the string always breaking and made me start using this stuff.”

  Once satisfied with the bloody concoction, James lowered the crate down the side of the ship until it dropped just beneath the water. A brownish-red haze slowly rose to the surface. James quickly tied the end of the line to the side rail, “Looks good to me, cuz. Let’s roll out!” The two boys raced down the stairwell and headed for the grand ballroom to see if their plan would really work.