CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The sky was dark as Mateo parked them in the Ship Divers lot. William could see the lights of the ferry pulling out of the terminal, returning to the mainland. He’d missed it.
He left the vehicle and ran into the jungle surrounding the large deck, still wearing the Kevlar vest, a .38 lodged in the tenacious fibers. He had Staryles’ gun in his grip.
The vegetation was thick behind the dive school buildings. He tried to keep the deck in view, searching for signs of Sausa’s men.
The dive shop was dark inside the windows. It was possible Penninger lurked in the back office, but William needed to check the area before barging in — he didn’t want to get trapped anywhere with Sausa’s men on the outside.
But Sausa’s private security were either well-hidden, or they weren’t there.
He kept moving until he had a view of the docks. The tranquil water reflected columns of wavy light from the lampposts, surveillance cameras were mounted beneath the lights. The Zodiac was there, tied up. The water lapped against the pilings and the boat made hollow sounds as it rubbed against the dock.
The next three boats were larger. The last dock was empty. Lights in the bay drifted close; the last boat was coming in.
William hid from sight and waited as it drifted to the dock.
He heard voices. A man climbed down the ladder and tied off the first line, a rifle slung over his back. Unless diving had heightened security, this wasn’t a twilight tauchsport run returning to the school.
The boat sat high in the water — it was the largest of the Ship Divers fleet, about 25 meters long. The area below decks looked deep.
Jodi Penninger had boasted about his custom-built diving boats, this one resembled a private yacht.
Banzai was painted on the flare.
William heard footsteps and saw three more men walking towards the just-arrived boat. He listened to their quiet talk, unable to pick out all the words though it sound like English.
In the distance, the ferry blatted its horn as it headed for the open sea.
William aimed the gun at the men. They had spread out along the boardwalk, taking positions. He could start with the first two, closest to Banzai, and then maybe hit the next man further down, but by then, the one by the Zodiac would’ve reacted and taken cover. Even with the sound suppressor on the gun, his position would be blown after a few seconds. And any men still on the boat could hide.
Plus, it would be blatant murder.
The seconds turned into minutes. His mind was empty, his pulse steady. It no longer mattered that he’d been dragooned into Roatán under false pretenses. It only mattered that lives were at stake. He breathed steadily, quietly, and watched as the men moved about.
One final man appeared on the upper deck of the boat, took the ladder and climbed down. His blonde hair blazed beneath the lamps.
Jodi Penninger.
Penninger spoke briefly with the others. Then someone showed up at the far end of the boardwalk, hurrying along towards them. Penninger looked worried. He met with the newcomer and they spoke in harsh whispers.
Penninger took out his phone and made a call. He paced, as if waiting for someone to answer. Then he took the phone from his ear, looked at it like he wanted to chuck it in the water.
William understood the frustration. He could relate.
She’s not answering, he thought. Sorry, Jodi. She might still be tied up.
Penninger’s voice rose enough for William to catch a clear sentence — “Then go get her,” and three of the men left, leaving one behind, positioned near the Zodiac.
Penninger climbed the ladder back onto the boat.
William moved deeper into the brush, the ocean breeze and occasional call of the monkeys concealing his moves. He found a way down to the ocean, beyond the docks. He waded in, testing footing. The water was too deep to walk to the yacht.
He stashed the weapon and vest in the brush along shore, then swam toward Banzai.
He paused, trod water, listening. There was thumping from within the vessel. Footsteps, maybe a door opening and closing. William grabbed the first rung of the short ladder off the stern and climbed up, careful not to make a sound. The next boat over concealed him from the guard on the boardwalk.
In front of William was another ladder and, beyond it, a door into the rear of the boat. Windows flanked the door. He pressed himself against the hull, and snuck a look through.
A single light glowed in the corner of the room, illuminating an interior door. Suddenly the door opened and Penninger stepped out. William jerked his head back. If Penninger stepped onto the deck, he would be right beside William. But the blond man went up the stairs, his feet tromping heavily, like a pouting child.
William waited until the footsteps receded, then found the door locked.
There was a narrow passageway alongside the vessel waterline. He shimmied his way along, seeking another way in. He reached a second exterior door, also locked. If he wanted into that room, he had to get on the weather deck first. He retraced his steps and started up the ladder, listening for Penninger or anyone else.
The weather deck was deserted. Straight ahead was the pilot house, walled mostly in glass. He peered in, saw the sonar screen and other monitors, the engine controls and throttle. He’d never driven a boat like this before. Not even close.
A vestibule amidships had stairs leading down. That was the way into the room, but the weather deck was in clear view of anyone watching.
William crouched against the gunwale and peeked over the edge. Penninger was far off down the boardwalk, on his phone again, standing near the Zodiac and the last guard.
William took the chance. He dashed toward the vestibule and followed the spiral stairs down to the lower deck. He was now within the antechamber he’d seen through the windows from the stern.
The door opened onto the room.
Well-appointed with nice furniture, a mounted flat screen, and a liquor bar. William’s wet clothes dripped on the carpet as he crossed to the large steel door at the fore.
The lever pulled back but didn’t disengage the lock.
He scoured the suite for a key, looking in the cabinets, and along the upper molding that framed the ceiling. He checked the drawers beside the sink, he inspected the medicine cabinet in the tiny bathroom. Nothing. There was a large duffel bag on the table, zipped closed.
This was a multi-use boat, at once a diving vessel and luxury yacht. With ample storage like this, it also had the capacity to be a fishing boat. The locked room was probably refrigerated, meant for storing the haul, several meters wide and deep.
William smoothed his hand over the door and then slapped his hand against it, twice, listening to the steel boom with each of his blows.
The report came back a second later, boom boom.
And then, more frantically — boom boom boom boom.
William backed away, breathing fast. He waited until the pounding ended. He’d been expecting this — the young women had to be brought to the island one way or another — but the confirmation still shocked him.
Footsteps above, on the weather deck. Penninger was back, or, someone else.
William slipped into the cramped bathroom and closed the door, his heart racing again.
Someone came down the spiral stairs and opened the door to the suite. They came to the large steel door, keys jangling. William sprung from the bathroom and tackled them to the ground.
Penninger yelled but William clamped a hand over his mouth. The man’s eyes were wide in the gloom, and locked on William. Penninger bit down on William’s hand, forcing him to let go.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Penninger scrambled to his feet. William knocked him back onto the carpet. Then he hit him in the mouth, hard enough that Penninger’s head thwacked against the ground. It shut him up. William held a fist in the air, ready to strike again. His knuckles throbbed, his eardrums beat his rapid pulse while he strained to listen. It didn’t matter. If someone else wa
s coming, he couldn’t stop them.
He patted Penninger down and found his wallet and phone. Penninger moaned. Then his eyes focused, his lips pulled back in a snarl, and William hit him again, this time blowing his porch light.
William got the keys from Penninger’s hands. It took a moment for the blood to rise as he stood. He stabbed the key in the lock and opened the door to the storage room.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
There were at least a dozen of them. Young girls, packed into the dark space, dressed down to their underclothes, all shades of skin color. No time to get an exact headcount, or assess health, but he saw one girl motionless on the ground.
Then one of them ran.
William made an ineffectual grab for her and missed. While she darted away, another girl tried to run.
He managed to get a hold of her, but she kicked his shin and he let go. She followed the first escapee up the spiral stairs.
The guard.
The guard might see them and open fire.
Three other young women were crowding the doorway, ready to attempt their own escapes. They squinted even in the dim light.
He held up his hands, blocking the stairway. “I’m an investigator. Stay where you are. Please. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t think they understood, but he left and ascended to the weather deck.
He stayed low and moved to the edge, looking over the gunwale.
The guard was still far down at the end of the dock and didn’t seem alerted.
William felt vibrations in the hull then heard the swish of water. It sounded like the first two women had gotten away, into the ocean.
He headed back down and confronted another young woman cautiously climbing the stairs.
She was dazed, blinking at him as they stepped back into the suite. “Está la policia?”
“I’m not police. I’m going to help you.”
Another girl translated as he weaved through them and returned to the locker. The one on the floor was in the same position. He entered the small space and knelt down beside her, feeling for a pulse.
“She’s dead,” someone said.
There was still warmth in her body but no breath, no pulse. He gently opened her eyes and found the pupils fixed and dilated. She was maybe fifteen. He started CPR regardless. He went through a few cycles of chest palpitations and breathing into her mouth, the sense that time was draining away.
He gave up and walked out of the storage room. More victims had fled. There were eight girls left after a quick count, including the decedent.
Penninger was pulling his legs up beneath him, getting to his knees.
There was a gunshot. Muffled by the vessel walls, but clearly from the docks. Someone had finally been discovered.
William addressed the group. “You need to get back inside.” He pointed at the storage room, hoping they understood.
One of them shook her head. “No. No puedo.” She had tracks on her inner arm. He guessed most of them, if not all, were hooked on something. Whatever made them docile and dependent. The ones who’d run had either managed to elude the drugs or build a tolerance.
“Please. You’ll be safe in there. There are men with guns outside. Entiendes? Armas . . .”
They looked mortified. He was telling them to get back in their cage. With a dead body inside of it.
“I’m going to get you out of here. But you have to listen.”
The other young woman translated for him again.
William turned on Penninger, who was getting on his feet. He grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. He had one zip tie left and cinched it around Penninger’s wrists.
Then he went after the women. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. He forced them back into the locker. A couple of them screamed and protested, but the translator seemed to understand. Her eyes were wide and somber as he closed the door.
They thumped against it in protest. At the same time, footsteps on the weather deck pounded towards the stairs.
“He’s down here!” Penninger yelled.
William moved quickly to the stairs. A moment later, the guard jumped through and William grabbed him from behind.
The guard squeezed off a few rounds, shattering glass and punching holes in the furniture.
William wrestled the gun away, but the man circled round and grabbed it again. They fought over it, moving towards the door where they toppled over the raised threshold. William brought his knee up hard, catching the man in his crotch, who yelped and let go of the gun. It was enough for William to wriggle free with the weapon.
Shooting men from a distance was one thing — he was still battling the massive guilt.
He pulled the trigger.
The sickness welled up inside. His head was spinning, his body aching all over. He stumbled backwards until his legs bumped the transom. A humid wind gusted off the water. Above him, the stars were shining. He looked up at the night sky, then quickly spun around and threw up into the water.
The spasms wracked his body. He almost let go of the rifle, but managed to keep it in one hand as his vomit splattered the surface. He dry-heaved a few more times, his head burning hot, his ears and lips tingling. He closed his eyes and drew a deep shuddering breath.
It wasn’t getting any easier. It was getting worse.
He got shakily on his feet, stepped over the body and back into the suite where Penninger was trying to get out. But the man had stopped partway, staring down at the dead guard.
William leveled the AK-47 at Penninger. “Go up and start the boat.”
Penninger was bleeding profusely from his nose. His eye had swollen shut. “I didn’t have any choice in this.” His voice was garbled, like his tongue was swollen, or he had broken teeth.
“I don’t care. Go up and start the engine.”
Behind Penninger, the women continued to bang on the locker door. William could hear their muffled pleas.
“You have to untie me,” Penninger said. He sounded resigned.
“Go, now.”
Penninger did as he was told and clumsily ascended the winding stairs. William followed, keeping back a few steps.
They crossed the weather deck to the pilot house.
“Tell me what to do,” William said.
“You need the key.”
William dug into his pocket and fished it out. Penninger showed him how to start the engine, first by priming it. William kept an eye on the dock. The other men would be returning soon, perhaps having found Alexandra incapacitated. He’d called the local police but doubted they’d responded quickly. Once the engine was fired, he used Penninger’s phone and called Mateo.
“I’m on the boat, Banzai. There were maybe a dozen captive women here, eight left. Go to Conchella, have her contact DNIC. Tell them I’m headed to the mainland with the women. Penninger is driving.”
“We don’t have enough fuel for that,” Penninger whined. “We just came from the mainland and haven’t refueled.”
“Then we’ll stop somewhere.”
William pressed the tip of the AK into Penninger’s cheek. “Tell me where I can get some fuel.”
“There’s a supply building behind the main office, near the locker room.”
William relayed it to Mateo. “Meet us in Flowers Bay. On the docks near the church.”
“That’s a terrible spot,” Penninger complained. “Coral heads on both sides, very narrow way in.”
William ignored him and warned Mateo, “Be careful. They might be coming back.” He hung up and searched for rope. He pulled a shank from a tool box in the corner, ordered Penninger to the ground, tied him around the ankles, and left.
He slung the gun over his shoulder and climbed down the outside of the boat to undo the tethers, frustrated the way his bungled hand struggled with the knots. Once the ropes were free he cast them aside and climbed back aboard.
The large inboard engine gurgled as his eyes swept the beach in the distance. He saw a figure there, a
female, watching. One of the victims. Then she disappeared from sight.
He considered letting the rest of them go, right here, right now. Let them have their immediate freedom. They could go to the local police if they wanted to take their chances. They could check themselves into the hospital. They could hide out, runaway to the mainland by ferry, whatever they chose.
But many would stay missing. Mothers and fathers would grieve. And he would lose the best evidence against David Sausa.
They stayed.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The dark water bubbled behind the boat as Penninger backed the Banzai away from the dock. Hands still tied, he spun the wheel and pushed the throttle stick forward with separate motions. The boat surged toward open water.
William sat in the captain’s chair, keeping watch. He would return below decks and open the locker once they had refueled. In the meantime he grilled Penninger.
“Sausa hires the men. You and Alexandra supply the women and the drugs. Booth helps with guns. Have I got it all straight?”
First Penninger was quiet. He snuffled back some phlegmy blood and spat it on the floor.
“You think I wanted this?” Penninger asked.
“Most of the Honduran fishing fleet is concentrated here in the Bay Islands,” William said. “So some of the fishermen swap shellfish and lobster for the guns and drugs coming in. From where? I figure Columbia for the drugs. Probably San Andres, the Columbian islands off the coast of Nicaragua. Guns come from the mainland.”
“I’m not talking.”
“The fishermen return to the Bay Islands without the fish, but with a lot of contraband. But they don’t come ashore with all of it. They sink some out there in the coral. Your divers bring it up. Like Deon. Maybe you even pay some of these kids who come down to get certified. Like Korey.”
“This is bigger than me. You don’t know how big . . .”
“And then you bring the girls in from the mainland, too. You’re dealing with Calle Eighteen?”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t ask for this . . .”
“Stay further out from shore,” William said, watching the trees and lights in the distance.
Titan Trilogy 3.5-Black Soul Page 22
