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

by Fernando Gamboa

  As his mind wandered, he started to slowly become aware of his surroundings: the slight sway that meant he wasn’t on solid ground, the dull rumble of a diesel engine, the stifling heat, how dry his mouth felt, and above all, the sharp pain coming from his left ring finger. He lifted that hand and held it in front of his face, staring at the white bandages wrapped around it. Ironically, the empty space between his middle and pinky fingers was what hurt the most—as if someone had given it a good smashing with a hammer.

  “How nice,” he muttered, suddenly aware the finger would never come back.

  Then a head rose beside him, and Riley realized someone was sitting in a chair by the bed.

  “Hi,” Carmen said, smiling.

  “Hi,” Riley answered, happy to have those big dark eyes looking at him with concern.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  Riley took a moment to focus on himself before answering. “Better,” he admitted, and showing her his left hand, added, “but I’m afraid my clarinet-playing days are over.”

  “You’ve never played the clarinet.”

  “That is adding insult to injury,” he said with false indignation.

  Carmen smiled again. “Seems you’re already better.”

  “And you?”

  “Eager to take a hot bath as soon as we get to Léopoldville,” she said. “But other than that and how sick I am of this damn river, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “And Jack?” Riley asked, raising his head from the pillow with sudden concern. “Has he woken up yet?”

  “A few hours ago, yeah,” Carmen said with a nod, calming him down.

  “And how is he? Is he okay?”

  “He’s already eaten the rations of half the crew,” she snorted. “So I think the antibiotics are working.”

  “Good, good . . .” Riley sighed with relief, relaxing again. Then he looked closely at Carmen and noticed unusually dark circles under her eyes. “Did you take care of me all night?” he asked, both surprised and pleased.

  She stood, stroking her messy mop of hair into a simple ponytail in a graceful gesture, revealing as she did the provocative curve of her neck that he’d so often kissed and where he’d stay and live forever if he could.

  “What?” she asked, seeing his lost gaze.

  He reached his good hand toward Carmen, pressing hers then bringing it up her bare arm to her shoulder, where he stayed a moment before ascending toward her neck. Then he pressed gently to bring her face toward his, which she responded to by leaning forward and opening her lips slightly as they met Riley’s in a long, intense kiss.

  It seemed too short when she pulled back.

  “No need to stop,” he said.

  She smiled and put her hand on his cheek, then kissed him again.

  This time the kiss was even longer, and when their lips separated again, Riley asked in a whisper, “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”

  “My mind?” she asked in his ear.

  Riley swallowed. “About us . . .”

  Carmen nibbled on his earlobe. “I’m still thinking,” she said, and she put the tip of her tongue in his ear as if anticipating what was coming.

  Riley’s hands slipped stealthily to Carmen’s breasts.

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  Before they could respond, it opened suddenly and Julie’s smiling face appeared.

  “Bonjour, Capitaine!” she shouted. “You’re already up?”

  Carmen sat up quickly and Riley nearly had a stroke. “Was just getting up,” he replied grumpily.

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes, I’m awake, Julie,” he sighed. “What’s going on?”

  She entered but not alone. César and Marco followed, and the three of them situated themselves next to the bed without being able to hide some apprehension at seeing the bruises and scratches on their captain’s body or stare at his left hand and its missing finger.

  “Still have enough left to scratch myself,” Riley said, holding up his hands when he saw the uneasiness in his crew’s eyes.

  “You could get a hook,” Marovic suggested, completely serious.

  “Don’t be an ass,” Julie rebuked, nudging him in the ribs, though he deserved a punch in the teeth. “That’s when you lose the whole hand!”

  “Then a smaller hook,” the Yugoslav said.

  Julie rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “What I find interesting,” César said, stroking his beard thoughtfully with one hand while he pointed with the other, “is how it just happened to be the finger a wedding ring goes on.”

  “What are you implying?” Riley asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I’m not implying anything,” he said defensively. “It’s just interesting. Whatever it makes you think of unconsciously”—a sly smile stretched over his lips—“is your business.”

  “My business?” Riley blurted in exasperation. “I’ll make you unconscious when I get up.” Then he addressed the others. “Would you care to tell me why you came, other than to annoy me? Don’t you have something better to do, somewhere that’s not in this cabin?”

  “The truth is no,” Julie replied. “That’s why we came to see how you were doing.”

  “I’m fine. About to address a couple issues in depth with this lovely lady.” He motioned toward Carmen with his head.

  “That remains to be seen,” Carmen replied, raising a defiant eyebrow.

  Riley frowned and, partially covering his mouth with his hand, whispered to the others as if Carmen couldn’t hear, “I have it in the bag.”

  She looked up and tutted.

  “Why don’t you go see how Jack is?” Riley asked.

  “That’s where we came from,” Julie clarified. “But he went back to sleep and watching him snore isn’t the most entertaining thing.”

  “I understand,” he said with a nod. “But there’s something important that I think you need to keep in mind.”

  “What?” César asked.

  “That if the three of you aren’t out of this cabin in five seconds I’m going to make you clean the Pingarrón from bow to stern with a toothbrush.” He smiled threateningly. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Let’s go,” César said, taking his wife and Marco by the arm. “I think they want to be alone.”

  “Hold on,” Riley said when they were already turning around.

  “Oui?” Julie asked, half turning back.

  Riley brought his right hand to his heart and smiled sincerely. “I still haven’t . . . I still haven’t thanked you.” He looked at them one by one.

  “No need, Capitaine,” Julie said with undeniable affection.

  “Yes, there is,” Riley objected, noticing his eyes getting inappropriately wet. “You . . .” He coughed uncomfortably. “You saved my life, and I’ll always be in your debt.”

  “You would have done the same for us,” César said, also with a shaky voice. “You’re our captain, but first and foremost, our friend. And it’s an honor to be under your command.”

  Saying this he snapped to attention and brought his hand to his temple in a formal salute. Julie and Marco mimicked the gesture, the three visibly moved—though in Marco’s case that only meant that he frowned slightly less for a moment and stopped looking like someone owed him a lot of money.

  Riley responded with the same gesture, clenching his teeth to keep from losing his composure. “Now get out,” he said. “I have business to attend to.”

  “Business?” Julie said, smiling and looking at Carmen. “Oh yes. Of course.”

  “Out, damn it!” he barked with a smile, pointing at the door.

  The three of them nodded silently, turned, and left the cabin.

  Before Marco shut the door, Riley clearly heard him worriedly tell César he didn’t have a toothbrush.

  When the door closed with a metallic click, Riley focused on Carmen again. “Where were we?” he asked.

  She ran a finger under the corner of his eye, taking with her a tea
r that had snuck away. She looked at the wet pad of her index finger as if instead of saltwater it was Iranian caviar, and she brought it to her lips and sucked it off as she looked into the captain’s amber eyes with her black ones.

  “Don’t be bad,” Riley mumbled, writhing in the cot.

  “Bad?” she asked with theatrical innocence. “On the contrary, I’m very,” she put a hand on Riley’s stomach and started to move it downward as she looked at him with the purest look of lust, “very, very good.”

  Just then there was another knock on the door.

  64

  “Jesus Christ!” Riley bellowed. “Forget the toothbrushes! You’re gonna clean the deck with your tongues!”

  “Pardon?” An Englishman’s voice asked on the other side of the door.

  “Fuck,” Riley grumbled, exchanging a look of despair with Carmen. “What do you want, Commander?”

  “I need to speak with you, Captain,” he answered without opening the door.

  “And you can’t wait thirty”—he looked at Carmen—“an hour?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “We’ll arrive in Léopoldville this very afternoon, and we still have a lot to talk about.”

  Riley looked at the woman in front of him, dressed in men’s clothing but still devastatingly beautiful.

  She shrugged with resignation as if to say, What can you do?

  Riley nodded. “Come in,” he said loudly.

  The door opened and Commander Fleming appeared. He was inexplicably elegant in a three-piece gray linen suit, smoking a cigarette.

  The British agent seemed surprised to find Carmen in the cabin and reddened slightly on understanding what he’d interrupted. “Oh, excuse me please,” he said, flustered. “If you want I can come back in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Riley replied. “No coming back in a few minutes. We’ll talk about what we need to talk about, and then”—he winked at Carmen—“we’ll pick up where we left off.”

  Fleming, standing in the doorway, nodded. “Very well, then,” he answered, without moving, still looking quietly at Carmen, as if he expected her to do something.

  Seeing she didn’t get the hint, he coughed and added, “Would you mind leaving us alone, Miss Debagh? I need to discuss certain matters with the captain in private.”

  “I mind,” Riley replied. “She stays.”

  Fleming was silent a moment, apparently searching for the right words. “I don’t want to seem impolite,” he explained, maintaining his calm tone of voice, “but what I want to speak about is top secret and I’d prefer no one was present besides the two of us. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Well, no. I don’t understand. If you’ve been paying attention to what’s happened here in the last few weeks, you’ll know I don’t keep secrets from my crew,” he answered.

  “Maybe you don’t,” Fleming said, “but I do.”

  Riley was about to argue again, but Carmen stopped him. “Doesn’t matter,” she said calmly, standing up and heading for the door. “This way I’ll get to straighten up a little.”

  When she was next to the door, she touched her crotch and mimed shaving.

  Riley’s eyes almost popped out of his head, causing the Englishman to turn and see why.

  Carmen already had her hand on the handle as she blew Riley a good-bye kiss and smiled brazenly at Fleming. “Don’t tire him out too much,” she ordered, then shut the door behind her with a wink.

  The commander faced Riley again, not knowing what to say.

  But the captain spoke immediately. “You have ten minutes.”

  Fleming sat in the chair Carmen had just left, looked around until he found an ashtray, and put his cigarette out parsimoniously.

  “I thought we’d talked about everything there is to talk about,” Riley said with a touch of impatience.

  Fleming nodded without answering the implicit question. “As I explained yesterday, as soon as we touch ground the police will detain you and Mr. Alcántara. The two of you will remain under watch in the hospital until the deportation order is processed, so hopefully you won’t have to go back to a dungeon or undergo any interrogation.”

  “Yes, that’s been made clear. It was one of the conditions you had to accept for them to let you come look for us. What I’m more concerned about is making sure the others are cleared of all charges.”

  “Exonerating the crew that stayed in Matadi was relatively easy,” he said, “though doing the same for Miss Debagh less so, given her participation in the police van escape. But I reached an agreement to put all the responsibility on the deceased Commander Hudgens.”

  Riley grimaced. “I still don’t think the commander . . .” He shook his head.

  “I know,” Fleming agreed. “But that’s the way things are. In the intelligence world the right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing. It’s like playing bridge blindfolded without knowing who your partner is.”

  “I know, I know,” Riley said, nodding, upset. “But for him to kill Van Dyck and keep us all in the dark from the beginning? I still don’t believe it.”

  “He used you,” Fleming said. “And in light of his actions, we can’t rule out that once his mission was completed he was planning to get rid of all the witnesses.”

  The way the commander emphasized the all made Riley’s stomach turn.

  “Don’t pity him,” the Englishman added, misreading Riley’s expression. “Hudgens didn’t have too many scruples, and I don’t think he was on your side.”

  “And you?” Riley asked directly. “What side are you on?”

  “The truth is there are no sides, my friend,” Fleming said with a smile. “The ONI is supposed to be on yours, but they sent Commander Hudgens with you, and maybe we’ll never know if he was following the orders of his superiors or someone else.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m trying to explain to you, Captain, that there are involvements beyond our understanding. There are interested parties unknown to us, very powerful men who don’t answer to any flag but their own and who, in reality, are the men who pull the strings: yours, mine, even those of the men we think govern us.” Fleming leaned forward like he was about to share a terrible secret. “The puppeteers that control us,” he murmured, “have puppeteers that control them. Don’t forget it.”

  Riley stayed silent for a moment, remembering hearing very similar words from Hudgens. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked finally.

  Fleming let his hand fall on the captain’s shoulder. “Because I think you’re a decent man,” he responded very seriously. “When everything around us seems rotten and it’s like we’re walking on a sea of corruption and lies, finding someone with integrity is like finding a flower on a dumping ground.”

  “Me, a flower?” Riley asked, amused by the comparison.

  “Why do you think your crew’s so loyal?” Fleming went on. “I’ve never seen such devotion my whole life. And it’s not because of your sailing ability and certainly not your incredible charm, but because they know you’re an honest man who would never betray them. They’d risk their lives for you if you ordered them to, not for money or any ideal, but for you.” He pointed at him. “Because they know, even if they don’t fully understand, that you’re doing the right thing.”

  Riley stared at the commander, not sure how to respond. He’d simply never considered the reason for his crew’s loyalty.

  He wasn’t sure if he wanted that responsibility, and he certainly didn’t think he deserved it.

  “You’re mistaken,” he responded gruffly. “I’m no virtuous paragon or as honest as you think, and I’m certainly not a goddamn flower.”

  The Brit sighed and smiled. “See?” he said. “That’s the answer of a man with integrity.”

  “Ah, to hell with you,” Riley grumbled. “What do you want from me? Don’t tell me you came just to butter me up.”

  “No, I’m not trying to garner sympathy,” Fleming assured him. T
hen he leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers. “The reason I came is to find out what you’re going to tell your government in a few weeks when you get back to Washington and meet with the ONI commission.”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you’re going to tell your people in London.”

  Fleming shook his head slowly. “I’m not going to tell them anything,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned Klein was just a crazy old man idolized by a gang of cannibals, without any relation to the Aussterben virus or anything remotely related to the Nazis. Unless they lock me in the Tower of London for treason and throw the key in the Thames,” he added, smiling bitterly, “I’ll try to make it clear that it was all an absurd misunderstanding and that there’s no reason for the British government to send anyone to investigate further.”

  Riley was satisfied with what he’d heard and nodded in agreement. “There’s no way any of Klein’s work survived the fire,” he said. “But we have to make sure no one ever goes back to that jungle. The survival of the human race could depend on it.”

  Fleming nodded, completely in agreement. “We have to do the right thing,” he said. Then his gaze rested on a small book at the head of the cot. “Au cœur des ténèbres,” he read, reaching out to take it. “A French edition of Heart of Darkness. Is it yours?”

  “Blanchard’s,” Riley answered. “He had it in a drawer in his cabin and for some reason he gave it to me.”

  Commander Fleming held the book in his hand. “I always wondered,” he said, looking at the disturbing drawing on the cover, “if Joseph Conrad was referring to the darkness in this horrible jungle in the heart of Africa, or the darkness in the heart of men.”

  Riley didn’t answer immediately, as he looked at the little book that had both their attention. He’d asked himself the same question. “Could be both,” he said finally, “or that they’re both the same.”

  “We sail in darkness,” Fleming said thoughtfully.