Darkness: Captain Riley II (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 2)

by Fernando Gamboa

  “It’s not a joke at all,” Riley interrupted. “You want to know the truth? Here it is. Whether you believe it or not is none of my business.”

  The man hesitated. None of it seemed to make sense. “Never . . . ,” he said, trying to get his thoughts together, “never have I heard of any treasure buried on Fernando Póo.”

  “Of course not,” Riley said as if it were obvious. “If you had, someone would have found it already, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” There was doubt in every word. “This is all very strange. Very unexpected.”

  “And very beneficial,” Riley said, looking at him hard. “For everyone.”

  “For everyone?”

  “Of course.” Zurita’s question meant he already had him in the bag. “I’m not going to give you details, of course. But we’re talking about a lot of gold and diamonds, hidden here by an English pirate during the sixteenth century.”

  “Gold and diamonds?” The commander’s voice nearly trembled with greed.

  “Lots. More than you can imagine. If you confirm the paperwork and help us find it . . .” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together.

  “How much?”

  “We’d be prepared to give you . . .” He turned to Jack a moment as if looking for approval. “Up to two percent of what we find. If you help us get it off the island of course.”

  The commander shook his head. “Ten percent.”

  Jack laughed, which Zurita interpreted as a bad sign.

  “Three,” Riley said.

  “Eight. You need me.”

  Riley rubbed his forehead, pretending to be tired. “Okay,” he murmured reluctantly. “Five percent for you, but in exchange you have to keep the mosquitoes away from my ship and my crew.” He reached a hand out and asked, “Deal?”

  The commander put on a show of being disgusted and, putting his left hand on the two wads of bills still resting on the table, he reached his right hand out and shook Riley’s. “Deal.”

  Riley gave a satisfied smile and stood up to leave. “By the way,” he said. “We’re thinking of organizing an event so we can introduce ourselves to certain select people in Santa Isabel.”

  Zurita, who had gotten up at the same time as Riley, asked, “An event?”

  “A party. Food, drink, women . . . you know. To make contact with the right people.”

  The commander smiled like a fox. “You’ll have to speak with Mr. Amilivia, the owner of the casino. He’s in charge of such things.”

  “Thank you, that’s what we’ll do. Oh, and of course, you’re welcome to come with your wife”—he smiled complicity—“or without her.”

  The commander returned the look. “And when are you thinking of having this event?”

  Riley turned to Jack as if consulting him. “Wednesday night.”

  “Day after tomorrow?” he said, surprised. “Hmph, you guys don’t waste time.”

  “Time is gold,” Jack explained.

  “Of course, of course,” Zurita said with a smile. “Very well, it will be my pleasure.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you so much, Commander,” Riley finished, putting on his captain’s cap. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Of course. Have a good night. And welcome to Santa Isabel.”

  The two sailors nodded by way of good-bye and left the office, and then the port authority building, at their leisure.

  Night had completely overtaken the docks. There was no one in sight, and only a handful of timid streetlights rivaled the furious brightness of the stars.

  When they were halfway up the gangplank of the Pingarrón, Jack couldn’t contain himself anymore and turned to his friend. “A treasure?” He snorted. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

  “I had to tell him something.”

  “But a treasure?” he insisted.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “That remains to be seen. If he decides to look into it . . .”

  Riley gave him an unfazed look. “As long as it works for twenty-four hours, that’s enough. After Wednesday night it doesn’t matter.”

  Jack didn’t seem convinced. “It was a very risky move.”

  “Not too risky,” Riley countered. “We already thought of the possibility and I memorized a lengthy tall tale about an English pirate who was shipwrecked on the island.”

  “We?”

  “It was Hudgens’s idea. And it really worked.”

  Jack studied him, frowning. “So—you and Hudgens,” he said. “And you couldn’t let me know?”

  “Forgive me, my friend,” he said, touching Jack’s shoulder. “But to make it look sincere I thought it’d be best if it were a surprise for you too. You should have seen the look on your face when I said I was going to tell Zurita the truth. Believe me,” he added, “your expression was more convincing than any explanation I could have given.”

  “My face was because of the stupid things you were saying.”

  Riley winked. “And so what?” he said with a smile. “The main thing is we have a free pass, and the commander’s gonna watch our backs to make sure he gets his share. The truth is, it worked out better than I expected.”

  Jack had no choice but to admit he was right. “And you want to go see this Amilivia now?”

  “Of course. Why wait? And I promised Carmen we’d eat out.” He winked. “So two birds with one stone.”

  “And the rest? They’re desperate to get on land.”

  “I know, and that’s exactly what I’m worried about. If they go out, they’ll be the center of attention wherever they go, and if any of them says something, the whole plan will go to shit.” He seemed to think it over a minute and ended up shaking his head. “We can’t risk it.”

  “What are you going to tell them?”

  Riley reached in his bag and took out some fifty- and twenty-five-peseta bills and put them in his second’s hand. “Take this,” he said. “Buy the best food and drink you can find and prepare an incredible dinner—and get drunk, if you want. But don’t leave the boat under any circumstances, okay? We’re on a mission, not a Mediterranean cruise.”

  Jack shrugged. “Very well. In that case, have fun.” And referring to how Riley had won the Pingarrón years back, he added, “And please don’t bet the ship in a poker game.”

  12

  Santa Isabel’s casino was a white building in the neocolonial style with a porticoed facade and large open windows out of which came light and the chords of Xavier Cugat’s orchestra, whose “Frenesi” was on the record player.

  Next to the main entrance was a local doorman in a suit. Seeing the couple approach, he greeted them with an obsequious smile and opened the doors wide, inviting them inside.

  “Look at that,” Riley said once he got through the door. “It’s better than I expected.”

  Carmen stopped by his side and looked around with a nod of appreciation.

  An open space lined with columns stretched to the other end of the large lounge. At the far side was a small stage for the few musical performances that came through those days. From the high ceiling painted with images of cocoa plantations and patriotic symbols hung half a dozen chandeliers. Though some of them were out, they still gave the place a strong feeling of brightness, accentuated by the white walls and colorful tropical plants that would have been the envy of any hotel on Fifth Avenue.

  Worn stairs rose to an upper floor with glass walls, which Carmen assumed was where the game tables were. On the other side was a big bar manned by two waiters corseted in uncomfortable uniforms. They seemed to be protecting the arsenal of bottles lined up behind them from the dozen or so diners at the tables that filled the rest of the floor.

  All the clients were white men. They all wore light-colored loose clothing as they sat in small groups. And they all turned, wide eyed, when Carmen and Alex entered the casino and stopped in the doorway to look around with curiosity.

  And it wasn’t for nothing. Riley called attention for being a strang
er and apparently a foreign sailor, which meant he could bring fresh news. But that only lasted until they saw Carmen, who had that look of amusement and indifference women wear when admired. The ratio of single males to females in the colony was about twenty to one, and the woman who had been the most desired in all of Tangier had suddenly appeared in the center of local society in a slinky red dress that nearly caused a heart attack or two.

  “Good evening,” Riley finally said to their audience.

  After receiving a series of nods and greetings in return, he took Carmen to one of the tables by the windows and sat down. The gazes of those around them followed like hooked fish.

  A solicitous waiter immediately appeared to take their order.

  “We’d like to have dinner,” Riley told him.

  The waited gave his best apologetic look. “I’m very sorry, sir. The kitchen is already closed.”

  Riley smiled calmly. “Well, open it up again. We’re hungry.”

  The waiter gave a questioning look to a group of men sitting at a table nearby. One of the men, with a graying goatee and wearing a vest and bow tie, nodded slightly, and the waiter regained his courteous smile.

  “Of course, sir,” he said, bringing his hands together. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll go tell the maître d’.”

  “Excuse me,” Carmen said. “The man you looked at is . . .”

  “Mr. Amilivia,” he said. “The owner of the casino.”

  “Mm, I see. Then please,” she said, glancing at Riley, “tell him thank you and treat him and the gentlemen with him to a round of whatever they’re drinking on us.”

  The waiter nodded once more. “As you wish, ma’am,” he said and went back the way he came.

  Two minutes later, another waiter put half a dozen drinks on the owner’s table, and he immediately got up and went over to them with a friendly smile and slight limp.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in a raspy voice. “My name is Emilio Amilivia, and I’m the owner of the casino.”

  Riley stood up and gave him his hand with a touch of a pretentious air. “Captain Alejandro Smith,” he said, and motioning to Carmen added, “This is my fiancée, Carmen Salam.”

  Amilivia took her hand and with exaggerated reverence made to kiss her. “A great pleasure, Mrs. Salam.”

  “Still ‘Miss,’” Carmen said, showing her ringless finger.

  Amilivia’s smile widened slightly. “Even better,” he said quietly and winked. “You’re the ones who recently came to port in that small cargo ship, right?”

  “Not even two hours ago,” Riley said. Motioning to an open seat, he added, “Would you like to sit with us while they serve our dinner?”

  “It would be a pleasure,” he said without being able to stop looking at Carmen, who had her hair in a high bun, leaving her neck and shoulders visible.

  “Not too busy tonight, huh?” Riley said, referring to the large number of empty tables.

  Amilivia, playing the professional, straightened up in his chair. “That’s because it’s Monday,” he said. “Come by Saturday night and there won’t be room to stand.”

  “Of course, of course . . . Listen, could I ask you a little favor?”

  “Of course, ask.”

  “Turns out the day after tomorrow is my fiancée’s birthday, and I’d like to have a party here, in your casino.”

  Amilivia raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Day after tomorrow,” he said after a couple of seconds. “Would you like to rent one of the adjoining rooms? We could—”

  “No, no,” he interrupted. “We want to rent the whole casino.”

  “The whole casino?”

  “That’s correct. Including the staff, cooks, cute girls . . . You know.” He winked. “The whole shebang.”

  Amilivia blinked a couple of times before he could open his mouth to speak again. “This . . . Of course, Mr. Smith. Though I must say the cost of renting the whole casino could be—”

  “Money isn’t a problem,” Riley interrupted. “And I want to hire the best musicians and cooks in Santa Isabel. It will be the best party this city has seen in years.”

  Amilivia was thrown off guard and struggled to maintain his composure. “I . . . Yes, of course. So it shall be. Although, organizing it all so quickly could be difficult.”

  Riley took a new wad of bills out of his bag and put it on the table in front of Amilivia. “Will this be enough?”

  The owner turned pale before the little mountain of blue bills and did all he could not to stutter again. “Yes.” He swallowed. “More than enough.”

  “I would also like you to invite all of Santa Isabel’s social elite. Administrators, merchants, landowners, military men. I want to stay here a while and do business, and how better to introduce myself than with a good party.” He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course.” He nodded. “But if that’s what you want, wouldn’t it be better to have a party on Friday or Saturday? That way you could have all the colonists with land on the rest of the island.”

  “Right, right.” Riley made an uncomfortable face. “We’ll do another one later like you suggest, but the fourteenth is my fiancée’s birthday and I would like to celebrate.” He winked at Carmen. “Don’t you think so, sweetie?”

  Carmen was able to keep from laughing and responded in the same tone, “Whatever you say, lovey.”

  “There you have it. Can you have it all ready in two days?”

  “Of course,” Amilivia said dramatically. “Being the lady’s birthday, do you want a cake with candles?”

  “No. No cakes, candles, or any birthday stuff. No one needs to know it’s her birthday. Just the party. With the best food, music, and alcohol you can find on Santa Isabel.”

  The casino owner nodded energetically. “As you wish. And I assure you it will be an unforgettable occasion.” And with rapturous enthusiasm he added, “This party will be remembered on the island for a long, long time.”

  Riley put his hand on Amilivia’s shoulder again in a display of camaraderie. “I have no doubt about that,” he said with a smile.

  13

  Shortly after dawn, before the stores opened and the merciless African sun rose above the horizon, Riley, Jack, and Hudgens walked silently up Cuesta de las Fiebres, which ran along the little cliff separating the dock area from the city of Santa Isabel.

  They soon reached the end of the short street, which opened onto Avenue General Mola. The avenue, guarded by a formation of slender palms, served as a promenade and a balcony from which to watch the sun set over the hot waters of the Gulf of Guinea. Luckily, at that hour there were only a handful of locals using machetes to chop at the stubborn grass sticking out from every crevice in the asphalt, along with a couple of Europeans biking to work who barely gave them a second look. There was also a Chevy truck parked by the sidewalk.

  A young black man got out of it and quickly walked toward them, smiling with perfect teeth. “Good morning,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Adolfo Jones. You’re the crew of the Pingarrón?”

  “That’s correct,” Riley said, and looking at the truck, he added, “Were you waiting for us?”

  “Mr. Lippett sent me,” he said with a nod. “He asked me to offer his apologies for not being able to dine with you at the hotel, but he would like for you to meet him at my father’s estate outside the city.”

  Richard Lippett was the SOE agent on the island, and the night before he’d arranged a meeting, via a messenger, for seven in the morning at Hotel Montilla, just two blocks from where they were now.

  It was possible that in the eight hours since then the Spanish authorities had figured out what they were up to and concocted a plan to capture them, but Riley immediately rejected the idea as absurd. If that had been the case, the Colonial Guard would have woken them up at gunpoint.

  “It would be a pleasure,” he said finally. “Should we get in the truck?”

  The young man smiled apologetically
. “My father’s car is in the shop,” he explained. “The humidity and saltpeter are horrible for motors.” He gestured toward the Pingarrón. “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” He smiled again. “Unfortunately, I only have this truck to take you in, but I assure you, you’ll be comfortable and it’s a pretty short trip.”

  Only three minutes later they had left the city behind and the avenue had turned into a highway of compacted dirt that seemed to go in a straight line toward the huge volcano that dominated the island.

  Once out of the urban center with its two-story colonial buildings with zinc roofs, they were suddenly surrounded by a dense jungle with enormous trees that seemed poised to take over the road.

  Sitting silently on the wooden benches in the bed of the small truck, they shook as the truck rattled along, and clung to the sides to keep from flying out when they hit a pothole.

  “Excuse the bouncing,” Adolfo Jones said from his seat in the truck bed. “Since the rains stopped we’ve been asking them to fix the road to Moka, but there’s no chance. The governor says there aren’t funds because of the war and all that, but I’m sure he’s hoping, as always, that my grandfather pays for it.”

  “Your grandfather?” Jack asked.

  “Maximiliano Jones,” he said. “You don’t know him?”

  “Should we?”

  “Well, he built the buildings on Santa Isabel—the dock, the bridge, and I don’t know how many other things. In fact,” he added, pointing backward, “we just passed a statue of him.”

  “Really?” Jack turned around, but the city was already out of sight. “A statue?” Then he turned to Hudgens, who was sitting in front of him, and pointed at him reproachfully. “We never got a statue for what we did,” he said, referring to himself and Riley. “Why didn’t we get a statue?”

  The commander was taken by surprise and looked for a hint of humor in the second’s face. “I . . . ,” he said uncomfortably. “I could suggest it to the ONI when we get back. Though keeping in mind the nature of—”

  “He’s pulling your leg,” Riley said. Then he turned to Adolfo and asked, “So your grandfather must be an important person on the island, no?”