El Gringo realized that his original plan could be enhanced by this new information. He was very glad he had taken the time to read all of the mail. Mail, he knew from his days of tracking Confederate raiders, was a weak link to most endeavors.
Now, when he next went into Cartagena to see his friend Swan about selling some items, he would have an even more profitable time because he would be getting more of the money since old Swan wasn’t going to get any. He would be dead.
And that would happen soon, for he was leaving tomorrow.
***
Toro knew something was wrong. Singleton wasn’t acting frightened anymore. He had paid, of course, but since then hadn’t acted like others who had felt Toro’s wrath. Toro had planned on keeping him around for a while, but perhaps, he surmised, it was time for Swan to go away. Who would deal with the ship captains? Toro did not know, but was sure that there would be little trouble in finding another gringo to accept the money for the task There were many in this port who would do anything for a lot of rum and a little gold.
Toro laughed when he remembered Singleton’s threat about being an important American government official. Only in his mind, Toro said aloud as he smacked a fist down on the plank bar top in the taverna, scaring the girl beside him. Only in his greedy little mind.
***
As much as Wake hated the reception at Admiralty House, Monteblanco reveled in it. As he explained it to Wake and Toledo, where they were warriors out at sea, his field of battle was in the political arena, and his weapons were his mind and his mouth. The two naval officers looked at each other and grudgingly admitted that the Venezuelan was right, and that frequently the real warriors were at the mercy of the diplomatic ones.
Terrington was there as well, playing the role of senior American naval officer present rather well, Wake thought. He handled his liquor and made no social gaffes, explaining pleasantly to Wake that he had been trained at the naval academy at Annapolis, where they bred gentlemen. At first Wake though he was joking, and almost laughed, but then realized the man was completely serious.
As they were preparing to make their departure, Commodore Forester asked the American, Spanish, French, and German naval officers to stay for a drink in his study. Monteblanco was also asked, as were the consul generals of Spain, France, Germany, and the United States. All accepted, intrigued by the offer.
The men arrived in the study, where each was given a glass of port and made his way to a chair or corner with his national colleagues, stewards gliding silently among them with chocolates, nuts, and fruit.
Finally Commodore Forester spoke, thanking them all for staying and explaining that yes, he had an ulterior motive for the invitation beyond their excellent companionship.
“It is late, we are all tired, and I will be mercifully brief, gentlemen.” He got the hoped-for laugh. “We, all of us, have a problem. A deadly serious problem. Piracy is afoot in these waters, and I am not talking about the usual thieves and scoundrels we have had here for hundreds of years. I am talking about a modern, sophisticated, and absolutely ruthless pirate organization that makes anything else we’ve had to deal with paltry by comparison.”
He paused long enough for the French consul to say, “Really, Commodore, worse than say . . . Morgan? Or Drake?”—which raised another laugh from the men, except from the Spanish, who still were angry about the notorious English depredations three hundred years earlier.
“Incredibly, Mr. Consul General, yes—even worse than the English buccaneers.” Forester had their attention as he continued. “There is a former American naval officer,” he glanced at the Americans and shrugged slightly in apology, “who has been using a steamer to plunder ships and kill people along the Moskito coast and the Panama isthmus. He has been getting bolder and bolder. Several days ago he attacked and captured the Panama steam packet that routinely comes to this port.” Several of the men gasped at the news, others shook their heads and looked at the floor as Forester went on.
“They killed everyone aboard and threw the bodies overboard, but through a miracle of God one man has survived and is in this port as we speak, struggling to live. He has given a description of the event and the pirate—a tall, muscular man, who is very pale with splotches of sunburn. The man is without human decency of any sort.
“The reason I have asked all of you here this evening is twofold. One, do any of you know anything further about this man or his evil endeavors? And two, will you provide naval assistance to an effort to go after him and rid our area of this scourge? Captain Terrington, as senior vessel commander present by virtue of your rank, could you be kind enough to start?”
Terrington’s eyes went wide. He had been about to order another port from the steward and was caught by surprise. He began stammering something about a routine patrol cruise when the U.S. consul general held up his hand and told Terrington to just tell everyone why he was really in the area.
“All right, we are here specifically to track down this man and stop him.”
The German oberleytnant, commander of the Meteor, guffawed and said, “With one gunboat? You will be chasing your tail around the Caribbean! Where is your navy?”
Commodore Forester didn’t like the German’s rudeness and came to Terrington’s defense. “The Americans have demonstrated to us in the Royal Navy twice in the past hundred years just how much damage a single ship can do to the enemy, Captain. I would never underestimate them.” Forester turned to Terrington, to whom he had taken a disliking, but still needed for his plan. “Captain Terrington, would you like our assistance in your efforts?”
Terrington glanced at his consul general, who nodded. “Why yes, sir. It would be greatly appreciated.”
“Quite welcome, Captain Terrington. Does anyone else wish to assist in the effort?”
There was a commotion among the Hispanics—Monteblanco, Toledo, and the Spanish consul all speaking at the same to each other. Monteblanco took control and turned to the others in the room.
“The Spanish consul has asked that I relate first that their navy is profoundly grateful to the Americans for saving their ship and that second, they would be honored to assist their colleagues in the American and British navies, but the Sirena needs repairs to be completed before she can participate. Then she is at your disposal. The consul for Spain has given his authority and approval, sir.”
The Spanish consul added, “We will not shrink from our duty, if only our ship can be repaired quickly enough here in Kingston.”
Forester bowed to the Spaniards in appreciation while mentally noting that they had just gotten the British to fund a repair job for their warship. Neatly done, he thought.
“On behalf of our American friend, and the Royal Navy, I say thank you to the gallant gentlemen from Spain. I must also add that our own vessel which will be part of this effort, the Plover, must undergo some scheduled repairs herself before departure. Captain Terrington, do you mind waiting for a week at the most? Our ship will be ready by then, probably earlier, and we can get Sirena repaired in that time also.”
“Ah . . . no, sir. No problem with that. We’ll wait a few days,” answered Terrington.
“Excellent. This is shaping up nicely. Now, do the distinguished gentlemen of the French Navy care to join? Or our friends from the German Federation of States?”
The German consul was the first to reply with a flat “no, this is not our concern.” He was followed by the French consul who said that the men of his navy would love to go down to that coast and kill the vermin who prey upon innocent men of the sea, but unfortunately the naval ship had orders to return to Martinique and could not participate.
“Ha! At least the Germans are honest,” whispered Monteblanco to Wake. “The French hope the pirates get even bolder for now because they are trying to get the Colombians to sell transit canal rights to their engineer Lesseps, who just dug the
Suez Canal. They want the American company to fail in Panama.” Wake nodded, amazed at the complex myriad of motives and relationships in the Caribbean. Nothing was easy, or as it first appeared.
Forester appeared unfazed by the refusals to help. “Very good, gentlemen. I think we now have an idea of the situation. I thank you all for coming and being so candid and helpful. And of course, I trust that as gentlemen you will keep our meeting and conversation confidential.”
They all said that oh yes, it was confidential, it must be, that it shouldn’t get out—making Forester wonder how many hours it would be until everyone in Kingston knew about the operation.
20
Senior Officer Afloat
June, 1869
It was normally two or three days’ sail from Cayo Holandes to Cartagena, but it took El Gringo a week after he left Cadena and Romero at the island. Abuela was a slow, leaky, foul-bottomed pig, and he cursed Rosas several times a day as they tried to get the schooner to sail close to the wind, but fell back each time. Finally they got her up to Barbacoas Bay, around to Isla de Rosario, and into the ancient fortified harbor at the center of the city, where they anchored among a hundred other decrepit-looking schooners.
The ex-American, dressed as a common seaman in filthy ragged clothes and broad-brimmed straw hat, had himself rowed into the heart of the city, past massive fortresses built hundreds of years earlier, to the old imperial dock. There he started his walk through the crowded, winding streets with their overhanging balconies, the sounds of puya music and smell of cooking beans, fish, and rice everywhere. He stopped at a tavern around the corner from the Plaza de la Aduana, smiling as he thought how much the treasury police would most certainly like to get their hands on him, if they only knew he was so close.
As he ate his pork and rice, washed down with rum and beer, he listened to the music and the sailors’ conversations in English, Dutch, and French, as well as Spanish. He talked with the girls, but did not buy one, just waited. Attracting no special attention, he looked like another gringo seaman in a town full of lost souls from around the world.
He had no doubt that Swan would come eventually, the shyster had been stopping there each week for years to spend time with the old lady in the kitchen during siesta. It was just a matter of waiting.
***
Wake had had a headache for days, but hoped this sea air would help. The frustrations of dealing with the British and Spanish were taking their toll. And Terrington wasn’t helping at all. He stayed in his cabin during the day, emerging at night briefly to go ashore for social dinners with the consul. Telegraphs reporting the situation had been sent to Washington, via Havana and Key West, and finally, after six days, approval had been given for Canton to lead the multi-national expedition against the pirate operation.
The British and Spanish ships had taken a week to refit and repair, while Wake put his own men through their paces to make sure that all was ready for action when it came. Gunnery and small arms exercises, rowing competitions between the launch and the cutter, and emergency damage repair were practiced every day.
But it was Terrington, more than anything else, that was bothering Wake. The man was a mercurial drunk, of course, but his behavior indicated that something more than alcohol was fueling his bizarre mood changes. Wake became sure of that the day Commodore Forester invited the senior officers of the expedition, which by now included Monteblanco, ex officio, to meet him at the hospital so they could question Morrison.
Forester’s thinking was that perhaps they could think of a question the Brits had not, and therefore reveal a piece of information that would be instrumental in the hunt for the pirate who was causing this destruction. Wake agreed and joined the group, but Terrington declined until Forester pressed him, saying as senior ship captain he should certainly know everything available.
When they got to the hospital Terrington hung back, not entering Morrison’s ward until the Jamaican nursing sisters brought him in. Morrison was obviously in pain and still critically ill. It was still not known if he would live through the wound’s infection, but he was answering the questions as well as he could—until Terrington walked in. Then Morrison grew quieter, looking anywhere but near the American captain. Wake noticed it and was sure that others had too. He also saw that Terrington asked no questions and stood behind the others.
Then two odd things happened, the first of which surprised Wake and the second of which disgusted him.
Captain Russell asked the final question of Morrison—could he please provide as detailed a description of this Gringo Loco chap as he was able to remember. Morrison gave the particulars: six feet, three or four inches; thin but muscular; short light-colored hair; very fair skin, splotched with sunburn; and a neutral northern states accent, probably from the middle of the region. Then he pointed at Terrington and said, “Just like him.” The assembled officers, except for Terrington, who looked aghast, chuckled nervously. Forester thanked Morrison and then departed the room, followed by the others.
And then, as they were walking out of the hospital, Wake spotted his captain remaining behind in an office area and talking to one of the black nursing sisters, who was handing him a distinctive small blue bottle. Wake knew what was in it—they had similar bottles in the medicine chest aboard Canton. Terrington came down the hallway a moment later and greeted Wake cheerfully, saying that he was glad the hospital visit was over, he hated the smell of the places, and that they should return to the ship.
Wake was too disgusted to ask Terrington why he needed a bottle of laudanum. Besides, he admitted to himself with a sigh, by now he already knew—his captain was not only a drunk: he was a drug addict. And Wake didn’t know what to do about it.
***
The first day of June, nine days after Commodore Forester had called his late night naval gathering, Canton, with her coal replenished, led the three ships steaming out of Kingston Harbor, past the naval station at Port Royal and the batteries at Fort Charlotte and on Henderson Hill. Wake thought of the days of Morgan as they steamed beyond Gallows Point and shook his head in wonderment of his own mission in this modern day in 1869. More pirates.
The gun salutes were still echoing off the hills as they made their way around Drunkenman’s Cay and the South Cays and, with massive Portland Point on their starboard, took their departure south toward Panama. Monteblanco had agreed to the plan, even though it delayed his return to Venezuela. He told Wake that he thought perhaps he could be of service, not only for his language skills, but because he knew the politics and personalities of the region so well. Wake had been hoping that the diplomat would stay aboard—his insight had been invaluable—and also understood the personal motives of the man. Wake would need to be there too if he were in Monteblanco’s place.
The plan was vague. They were to head south and search for the renegades, engage them, and kill them. Apprehension for trial was not even discussed. Exactly how and where they would search was left up to the expedition commander, Parker Terrington.
It was agreed among the parties that the Americans would lead the effort since they had the senior man among the ship captains—Terrington was a lieutenant commander, Russell was junior to him, and the Spaniard was only a lieutenant—and because the leader of the pirates was an American, or former American as Wake corrected them. What was not said, of course, was that if things went badly, the Americans would be at fault. And a lot of things could go badly, Wake admitted at a meeting of Canton’s officers in the wardroom.
They were heading into an area that was mostly uncharted, with hostile Indians, terrifying diseases, legendary poisonous animals, swarms of biting insects, a swirl of political machinations, and on top of all that, Wake pointed out to his officers, an enemy that had forgone any humane tendencies. If you were captured by this enemy, he told them as he remembered Morrison’s vivid depiction of the attack, you would be begging to be killed quickly
.
But the preparations were in the past. They were all as ready as they could be as they stood out to sea, and left the civilized comforts of Jamaica and the British Empire behind them.
***
Wake realized that at some point a more definitive plan would have to be decided upon and that Terrington was neither competent, nor coherent, enough to accomplish that task. So he met with Custen, Connery, and Monteblanco the first night at sea and went over the possibilities.
They knew that Cartagena was important as the place where the pirates sold their booty and obtained things they could not find aboard their victims’ ships. It was the source of their money.
They knew that the Moskito coast of Costa Rica and Nicaragua was the hidden base of operations for the pirates, and that the area impacted by their depredations extended from Colombia to Honduras and from Panama almost up to Jamaica. That area included several small islands out in the Caribbean.
As they discussed the problem and their assets, it became obvious to Wake that they would have to split up and search different areas. The Spanish would be well suited to cover the Moskito coast, the British could search along the Panamanian coast, and the Americans would go into Cartagena. They would split up after checking at Old Providence Island and St. Andrews Island for signs of the pirates, then reassemble at Porto Bello, on the Panama Isthmus, in three weeks to assess their options at that point.
A Dishonorable Few (The Honor Series) Page 12
