One Helluva Bad Time- The Complete Bad Times Series

by Chuck Dixon

  “They don’t have the skill sets,” Caroline said. “Rowing takes training. You don’t want amateurs pulling the oars. That guy calling off the count? He gets more of a share of the loot than anybody except the captain.”

  “Do you know what these clowns did to piss off the Carthaginians?” Dwayne asked.

  Caroline relayed the question to Praxus, who only shook his head, lips pressed tight and a mournful look.

  “He’s lying,” Dwayne said.

  “Uh huh,” Caroline said.

  FROM A FRIGHTENING start, the mood on the Lion went from organized panic to brittle tedium within hours. Even a sea chase with the possibility of mass executions at the end of it becomes a drag after a few hours of inactivity. Most of the fighting crew stopped watching the horizon for the pursuing shadow. They remained quiet, muttering among themselves or dozing while the rowing boss paced the center deck, calling out the rhythm in a sing-song voice as regular as a metronome. As the sun passed its zenith, jugs of water and baskets of hard cheese and dried fruit were passed about.

  Dwayne and Caroline sat out of the way in the prow by the seer. Echephron was snoring softly with his robe pulled low on his face.

  “This wasn’t in the kid’s book, was it?” Dwayne said.

  “You read it too. No mention of being chased by anyone,” Caroline said and popped a date in her mouth to suck the sweet flesh off the pit.

  “Maybe he forgot about it. Maybe it turned out all right.”

  “I don’t know. It could be it slipped his mind over time, but I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” Dwayne said.

  “Because of the attention to detail in Praxus’ writing.” She shrugged. “I don’t think he wrote his first draft when he was an old man. I think he’s writing it now. So, maybe our capture changed things. Maybe he never even lived to finish it.”

  “That’s fucked up. How did our capture make today different?”

  “In the codex, Praxus sure doesn’t mention us. He also wrote that the ship was only anchored at Nisos Anaxos for one day. After they caught us a lot of the crew camped overnight on the beach. We didn’t leave until late the following day.”

  “Almost twenty-four hours behind schedule,” Dwayne said.

  “Enough of a difference for us to cross the path of another vessel the Lion would have missed if they left on time.” Caroline frowned and rose up to spit a pit over the side.

  “And probably one that was on the prowl for these assholes.”

  “The treasure. You think that’s it?”

  “I think it’s time Praxus gave up some answers.”

  “Does it make a difference?” Dwayne said.

  “It does to me,” Caroline said, popping another date in her mouth.

  41

  Lion at Bay

  MOONLESS NIGHT DROPPED on the Aegean, with the comet visible as a frosty smear against the stars. The sail and lines shone silver. The deck was awash in black shadows. The pursuing sail was invisible in the dark somewhere behind them. Its span had grown noticeably larger throughout the afternoon and evening before vanishing in the gloom of dusk.

  The fighting crew dozed. The rowing boss kept up his unerring rhythm in soft grunts. This was running silent 240 B.C. The naked kid on lookout slid down the mast and stuck his head in an open barrel of water to drink his fill.

  Ahinadab lay flat on his back on the deck. Caroline thought at first that the skipper was still drunk. He held his hands up before his face, fingers pointed and arms sweeping slowly across the firmament. He was studying the dome of stars above to determine their new course. She wondered what he might have done if the night was overcast.

  The captain rose to his feet and kicked two crewmen awake. He growled orders to them. They jumped to pull loose lines and haul them away to raise the sail up the mast. The hemp folded as the lower and upper spars drew together. The braided lines squeaked through the wooden tackle.

  The captain joined Yada on the tiller deck and pointed a hand at an angle along the port bow. He touched the helmsman’s shoulder and brought the man’s eyes in line with his pointing arm. Yada nodded and shoved the tiller hard starboard with the help of the skinny Nubian. The timbers of the Lion creaked as the prow swung slowly in line with the new course. They were heading away at a sharp angle. With any luck, they would be over the horizon by dawn and out of sight of the pursuing vessel.

  The top tier of oarsmen hauled in their oars and stood to stretch aching legs and backs before lying down on the benches and floor planks to catch what sleep they could. The bottom rank kept up the sweep of their oars through the water at a reduced pace. The rowing boss climbed down to the lower oar deck. He sat down cross-legged on the center planks and kept the metronomic rhythm by tapping his staff on the board before him.

  Dwayne startled Caroline by stepping out of the dark and touching her arm. He jerked his head toward the lower decks. She followed him down between dozing oarsman and stowed oars on the second deck then past the lower rowing deck where the banks of men leaned forward and back in a mechanical rhythm. She could see now that most of the work was done with their legs. They braced their bare feet against blocks mounted on the deck. The surfaces of the blocks were worn smooth by the friction and stained dark with sweat. A boy, who could not be more than ten years old, moved nimbly among them with a bucket under his arm. He stopped each time a man grunted to him and held a ladle to the man’s lip. It looked to Caroline like an oily gruel of some kind. Protein for fuel. Salt to restore them.

  They reached the sand floor of the hold and Dwayne moved to where the mast rested in the sand, footed into a gravel-filled box. Caroline followed him into the darkest shadows toward the stern. There were puddles in the sand along either hull. She sniffed the air and gagged audibly. The stench of urine was overwhelming.

  “Yeah, no bathroom breaks on this ride.” Dwayne laughed where he knelt in a patch of dry sand. He was pulling off his t-shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “Get your shirt off,” he said.

  “Are you serious? Is this some kind, of gladiator fantasy of yours?”

  “I like the way you think. But I had something else in mind. We need to do more to hide your girl parts. I saw some of the guys checking you out. Maybe they’re not so sure you’re one of the boys. That ass looks fine no matter which way they swing.” Dwayne had a small knife he picked up somewhere and was cutting the NRA t-shirt along the seam.

  “Okay. I get it.” She pulled off the soccer jersey to reveal a sweat-soaked sports bra.

  Dwayne cut the shirt to create a broad sheet of cloth. He sliced a pair of strips from the hem, then folded the main body of the shirt in half. Caroline took it and wrapped it twice around her chest, then helped Dwayne loop the strips torn from the hem over her breasts. He pulled them tight behind her and knotted them. The effect was good. Her breasts were flattened against her chest to reduce her feminine profile.

  “Too tight?”

  “I can stand it.” She slipped the jersey back on. She laughed when she looked up to see Dwayne tying a remaining strip of the t-shirt in a headband around his forehead.

  “Going Roman on me?”

  “I am Spartacus,” he said.

  She knitted her brows at that and tilted her head.

  “Man, you really need to watch more movies,” he said.

  THEY CLIMBED OUT of the stinking hold into the cool night air. The oar crews had changed while they were below. The lower tier now rested with oars drawn inboard. The upper rank was back at work with a new man keeping the rhythm. He was a leather-skinned guy with a white beard and shaved head who squatted and tapped the deck boards with an iron-headed cudgel. One tap. Two taps. One tap. Two taps.

  Praxus found Caroline when she went to the mast to fill a cup with water.

  “I know your secret,” he said to her, gripping her arm as he spoke.

  She looked about them at the fighting men sleeping along the gunwales.

  “They cannot understan
d. Only you and I speak the Roman language,” he hissed.

  “What secret can I have? I told you the truth,” she said and pulled her arm from his grasp.

  “Your master. The Gaul. He is in the hire of Carthage. They have many Gauls in their army. You are spies. Both of you.”

  “That is madness,” Caroline said and turned to walk away but could only move slowly over the dark, rocking deck. Praxus leapt the leg of a sleeping man to draw in front of her.

  “I will not reveal this.” Praxus had a wheedling tone in his voice.

  “I do not know what you’re talking about,” she said in annoyance. With everything else going on, she had to deal with this pain-in-the-ass kid. Him and his stupid memoir were the reasons they were in this mess in the first place. She shoved him aside, but he grabbed her arm again and would not let go.

  A big arm snaked around Praxus’ throat and lifted him off the deck. His fingers released Caroline’s arm. He made a rasping sound and his tongue stuck between his teeth.

  “Why’s he pestering you?” Dwayne said, easily dangling the boy from his encircling arm. Praxus’ feet kicked wildly, but no sound escaped his mouth.

  “He says he knows we’re spies,” Caroline said.

  “Should I throw him overboard?”

  “No. Let’s hear what he’s up to.”

  Praxus gasped in air when released. Dwayne took him by the hair and frog-walked him to the prow and sat him on his ass. Caroline prodded his chest with a finger.

  “Tell us what you want,” she hissed.

  “If we are captured, you will speak for me? The Carthaginians will hang all aboard and worse. A word from one of their own would stay their hand. I would be spared.”

  “Why are the Carthaginians after the Lion?”

  “The gold and silver!” Praxus said, some of his wiseass attitude returning. “You know this. Why should I tell you what you know already?”

  She slapped his face with an open hand. Dwayne snorted in surprise.

  “You want to dance on a rope, fool? You are the one asking me for mercy. I want to know what you know. Then Maximus and I will decide your fate.”

  “The box we buried on the island where we found you. That is why they quarter the seas to find us. We captured and boarded a trader bound for Cyrene maybe ten days ago. Hidden in its hold was the chest filled with coins from Carthage.”

  “Why was so much coin being shipped?”

  “It was payment for mercenaries. A Gilgamae general is threatening revolt unless they are paid. That is what the master of the trader told Ahinadab after they blinded him.”

  “Why was the trader unguarded?” she asked. “It lost its escort in a storm,” Praxus said.

  Probably the same storm Dwayne and Jimbo ran into on their initial manifestation. And it was certainly one of those escort ships that was following them now.

  “What happened to the crew of the trader?”

  “They were thrown into the sea to die and their ship set afire.”

  “Not all of them died, Praxus.” He tilted his head like a dog might.

  “Someone survived to identify the Lion. You can never put into a port again without someone reporting you to Carthage,” Caroline said. “They will look for this ship to the ends of the Earth, and their justice will be terrible.”

  A hint of a conspiratorial smile crossed Praxus’ lips.

  “Will you speak for me? I have been a friend to you, have I not?”

  “I promise. You’ll come to no harm,” she lied. How the hell could she know what was going to happen? They were in undiscovered country here with history being rewritten as they went along. “What about your master, the old man?”

  “I do not care. Let him die. I tire of being buggered by him.” Praxus sniffed.

  “Get out of my sight and stay there,” she said. “Jesus,” Caroline sighed as the boy scuttled away toward the creaking mast.

  “What was that all about?” Dwayne said.

  “He’ll keep his mouth shut,” she said. “But Praxus told me what’s going on. Well, what he knows anyway. The gold and silver they buried was meant for mercenaries in Libya. As you and I both know, it never got to them. The check was in the mail for two thousand years. And the Libyans and Celts and the other soldiers of fortune did revolt until a Carthaginian general named Hamilcar Barca put them down in a series of battles over the following year. This year and next. This slowed the expansion of Carthage’s power in the Mediterranean, and another power grew to fill the vacuum.”

  “Rome,” Dwayne said.

  “Yeah. These assholes caused the Mercenary War and bought the Romans time to build a fighting navy for the first time. Is this getting too deep for you?” she said.

  “I’m only worried about tomorrow. That’s all I can handle right now.” He shrugged.

  WHEN TOMORROW CAME, the sun revealed the sail of the pursuing warship catching the light farther to their stern than it had been when last seen the day before but still bearing on them. Behind it, a second sail followed in its wake.

  42

  Rhodes

  LEE HAMMOND WAS dealing with jet lag at the hotel’s pool bar by nursing a second Crazy Donkey ale from an ice bucket by his lounger. The whole pool area was empty but for him and a solitary swimmer. Chaz was up in the room, trying to sleep himself right with the clock. Lee had his own cure.

  Rhodes was a beautiful old-world town with some amazing scenery. But Lee was eyeing the only scenery that interested him at, the moment.

  She was doing laps in the crystal water of the pool. She swam easy, her lean, tanned form gliding along with barely a ripple. Aside from her swimmer’s body and raven black hair, Lee’s attention was drawn to the C-shaped scar on her back at the left shoulder. He watched her climb the ladder from the water, and the matching puckered scar was visible just above her bikinied breast.

  He waited until she’d slipped on a robe and took a seat at one of the umbrella tables. He walked over and set two frosty bottles on the table before her. Lee said something in halting Greek. He either asked her if she was thirsty or if she was sleepy. He wasn’t really, sure. She laughed.

  “Yeah, my Greek sucks.” He shrugged.

  “I’m not Greek. I’m from Israel,” she said in English.

  “You don’t have an accent.”

  “My family emigrated from Chicago when I was ten.”

  “Ah.”

  “Little early for beer, isn’t it?”

  “My clock’s all off. Flew in last night. Tony.” He stuck his hand out and she took it.

  “Bathsheba,” she said.

  It was his turn to laugh. She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not messing with me?” he said.

  “Call me Beth.” The smile came back.

  “I like Bat better. You here on vacation, Bat?”

  “Celebrating my retirement.” She took a pull from the beer.

  “Israeli Defense Force, right?” She looked mildly surprised.

  “Did my compulsory two years and stayed in five more. I can see you’re a vet by your ink.” She nodded at Lee’s arm. His forearm tats were visible below the sleeves of his camp shirt. A red arrow below the word FORWARD in black; a set of paratrooper wings with a grinning skull.

  “I could see your history by that in-and-out wound. AK?” he said.

  “Lebanon.” She nodded. “Funny thing is, getting shot was what made me stay in.”

  “I can relate. You should get some ink yourself.”

  “The Torah would not approve. What are you doing in Rhodes, Tony?”

  “I won the Powerball. Two hundred million after taxes. Now I travel the world meeting interesting people from other cultures and, for a change, not killing them.”

  “You’re full of shit.” She smiled with her eyes this time.

  “You’d really think that if I told you the truth. I’m here waiting on some friends of mine coming into port today,” he said.

  “Your friends have a yacht?” she said.

  “Oh,
yeah,” he said. “Great big one.”

  Chaz shambled up and sat down heavily in the empty chair between them. He looked drowsily from the girl to Lee.

  “Six hours in-country and you’ve already made friends.”

  “Damn straight, Tyrone. Meet Bat,” Lee said and tilted his beer back.

  “Tony and Tyrone?” Bat grinned.

  “I guess so.” Chaz shot a glance at Lee. His eyes narrowed as he looked past Lee to the lobby opening across the pool patio.

  “What is it?” Lee said, turning. “Someone we know,” Chaz said.

  Two figures stepped from the shadows of the lobby into the clean Aegean sun.

  43

  The Captain’s Course

  THE KID PERCHED up on the spar atop the mast had eyesight like Ted Williams. He shaded his eyes to watch the pursuing ships and called down details to the captain. To Dwayne, they were just bobbing rectangles visible now and again in the copper glare off the sea. Praxus translated to Caroline who relayed it to Dwayne.

  “They’re both, Carthaginian. The boy says he can tell by the sails. The lead ship has two stylized dolphins on its sail; the symbol of Yamm, god of the sea. The ship following has sails of white with red stripes. They’re both triremes with all oars in the water.”

  “These odds suck,” Dwayne said.

  “Six to one would be my guess,” Caroline said. “All trained soldiers. They’ll likely have catapults or ballista on board.”

  “Faster ships. Outnumbered. Outgunned. Nowhere to run.”

  “What are our options, Dwayne?”

  “Limited. We could slip overboard. Or take a chance of becoming slaves to a better class of bastard. I’d rather fight than give in or drown.”

  “You mean this is your chance to play Hercules,” she said.

  “I was thinking Conan,” he said.

  “The talk-show guy?” Her brows knit.