Island Inferno Page 20

  Hugo and his boat—finally. Chombon wiped the sweat from his brow and tossed the bamboo rod in the corner. “Bueno.” He crossed the room in three swift strides and, instructing Jorge to watch over the captives, hustled down the trail toward the beach.

  He had been waiting eagerly for the arrival of Hugo’s boat. His last message had promised four new men, recruited by his contact, Manuel.

  When he arrived at the beach, Hugo and the other four were struggling to unload the lancha as it bobbed in the surf. They were young and tough looking—probably longshoremen from the port who were tired of the dangerous and low-paying work loading and unloading cargo on the docks.

  Hugo had also secured some better weapons: two belt-fed RPK machine guns from Colombia. They would make his small fleet that much more formidable when they struck again. And they would have to strike soon.

  He had paid handsome bribes to the so-called “eco-police” at the ranger station to have them keep the occasional yacht and live-aboard dive boat away from his secluded cove. But the presence of the research team was proof they couldn’t keep everyone out. The area was becoming more and more popular with divers and sport fishermen too.

  There was even recent talk of cruise ships docking on Coiba. He’d heard that Mick Jagger and other celebrities often trolled other islands around Coiba in their multimillion-dollar yachts. Perhaps soon he and his men would take one of these yachts for their own.

  The loss of the girl made Chombon want to kill something. He had been looking forward to her company. If he had not been shorthanded, he would have cut Roberto’s eyes out as an example to the others. But she was most certainly dead by now, and if she wasn’t, she would be soon. The horrors of the jungle would not respect her beauty or her sex.

  Many prisoners had thought they could escape the torturous life of the forced-labor farms instituted on Coiba during the eighties. But they had all either died in the jungle or come crawling back, half dead, a short time later.

  All but one.

  He and the one they called the Mudman had been prisoners on the island at the same time. But Chombon had never known of him until the man escaped into the jungle and began killing prisoners. Then everyone knew the Mudman. They said he was one of the Wounan—a primitive and reclusive Indian tribe from the jungles of the Darién.

  After laborers were found with their throats cut, the man achieved something of a mythical status. But it spoke volumes about how little the guards cared about the encarcelados that they never made a serious attempt to stop him.

  Perhaps, like most of the prisoners themselves, the guards believed that it was only a matter of time before the jungle took care of the psychopathic killer. Nobody expected the man to actually survive out there. But many years had passed, the prisons closed, and now it was obvious that they had been wrong.

  El hombre de Lodo was still out there—and now he was stalking Chombon and his men.

  But the hunter was about to become the prey. His men had devised a trap for the Indian, and for once even his men had done the work quickly and without complaint. Once the Mudman walked into their trap, they would visit upon him the worst terrors they could imagine, then turn their attention to more profitable endeavors.

  There was also the issue of the captives. The men wanted to simply kill them and make it look as if the malevolent jungle had claimed more victims. But Chombon decided it would be more profitable to hold the boys for money, even if it meant abandoning their camp. This would not be easy, but he saw opportunity where others saw only problems.

  The boys could likely be ransomed for good money, especially the American. And there were many criminal elements in Panama whom they could pin the blame on or negotiate a deal with. The trick was to hide the captives away someplace on the mainland, then make contact with their families as soon as possible.

  If it was believed that the entire party had been captured, it might buy them weeks, even months, of negotiating for the hostages’ return. That would take the heat off of their hiding place long enough for Chombon and his men to make one more big score—and this time cash out. By the time the authorities figured out that the chica was dead, the pirates would be living large in Brazil or Ecuador or anywhere that money would let you be whoever you wanted to be.

  Chombon reached the water’s edge and waded into the waves where Hugo held on to the boat to keep it from being sucked out in the undertow or rolled in the surf.

  “Buenos días, amigo.” The shaggy campesino waved a greeting from the bow of the lancha.

  “Good morning, Hugo. I am very glad to see you, my friend. We must talk.”

  Hugo jumped into the waist-deep water next to him. “What do you need, Jefe?”

  “We have captured the team that your phone call warned us about. I need you to take them to the mainland and put them somewhere while I make arrangements.”

  Hugo brightened visibly. “You have the mamacita?”

  Chombon scowled. “We did, but Roberto, the idiota allowed her to escape.”

  Hugo’s face fell. “That is a great loss. She would have been very entertaining, no?”

  “Not for you.”

  “Ah, well. Now she will be no diversion for either of us. What a waste. So it is just the other three then?”

  Chombon’s anger increased. “Three? What three? We only found two: the American and the skinny boy.”

  “You did not find the older man?”

  “What older man?”

  “The one with the goatee?”

  “No. But I must ask the other two why they did not tell me about him.” Perhaps he had not applied the rod strongly enough.

  “Well, even with only the two, this is a big favor you ask. Moving supplies is one thing, but keeping prisoners? Very risky. I do not want to end up back in prison, amigo.”

  Chombon grabbed Hugo’s shirt and twisted, glowering into the smaller man’s bloodshot eyes. “Do not forget, amigo, that if it weren’t for me, you would never have left this island alive the first time.”

  Hugo let go of the boat momentarily, putting his hands up in surrender. “You are right. I will do as you ask. My humble casita near Bahía Honda will suffice. It has no facilities, but nobody ever comes out there. It will be a perfect place.”

  A broody calm returned to Chombon. He let go of Hugo’s shirt. “Yes, that will work for now. But we must move quickly. Stay here, and I will have them brought to you.”

  Hugo bowed his head slightly. “As you wish, Jefe.”

  Isla Coiba. 0700 hours

  DOC KELLEY KNELT over a sitting Fernanda and daubed at her swollen eyes with an alcohol wipe. “Hoooey, girl, you look like you got drug behind a train! Who did this to you?”

  “That would be me, bro.” Rip wondered if she resented him for it. “I guess you could say we met by accident.”

  Doc clucked disapprovingly. “You beating up the honeys now, Rubio?”

  “Actually, Rip isn’t responsible for this side,” Fernanda lightly touched her right eye. “Chombon did that.”

  Well, at least she doesn’t sound mad.

  Doc looked concerned. “Who’s Chombon?”

  “He’s the pirate leader.” She shuddered slightly. “They’re not nice people.”

  Rip was surprised by the anger that rose in him at the thought of a man hitting this girl. Thoughts of Gabi tried to enter his mind, but he pushed them away.

  Compartmentalize, Rubio. Focus on the mission.

  He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a brown pouch, passing it to Fernanda. “I bet you’re hungry. When was the last time you ate?”

  She took the plastic pouch. “Thank you. I don’t remember the last time I had food. What is this?”

  Doc pulled out a large knife and helped her open the bag. “It’s an MRE, which stands for Meal, Rejected by the Enemy.’ ”

  Rip laughed. “Don’t listen to him. They’re not bad.”

  Fernanda dumped its contents on the ground and picked up the individually wrapped pieces,
reading their labels. “Omelet with cheese and vegetables. Applesauce, carbohydrate enhanced. Strawberry dairy shake powder, fortified with calcium and vitamin D.”

  “See?” Doc asked. “A veritable cornucopia of goodness.”

  She tore open the applesauce. “Anything will be goodness right now.”

  As she ate, Rip and Doc plied Fernanda with questions about herself, and between ravenous mouthfuls, she told them about her family, the Lerida coffee business, and her work at the university in Panama City.

  Eight minutes later, after she had downed the last of the strawberry dairy shake, she sighed. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Thank you again, Rip.”

  “No problem, chica. We’ll get you off this island just as soon as we can.”

  “But you’re not here to rescue us?”

  Doc spoke up. “We’re really not supposed to talk about it, hon. It’s not …”

  “She already knows about the ITEB, Doc. Look, Fernanda. We’re a covert unit, so please remember that when you get back. A lot of people could really be in danger if word got out about what we’re after here.”

  She nodded, studying her hands in her lap. “I just hope Carlos and Zack are okay. And Alex.”

  Rip tried again. “We’ll do our best to get them out. What were you guys doing out here anyway?”

  Fernanda sighed. “Alex is a professor of biology at FSU. He’s been doing research on this island for years. There are hundreds of endemic species of plants and animals here, and he believes that somewhere in the island’s interior could be the cure for AIDS or cancer or who knows?”

  Rip didn’t want to look stupid, so he pretended he knew what endemic was.

  Doc was now checking Fernanda’s eyes with his penlight. “Hmm … no concussion. That’s good. So this island’s full of stuff that doesn’t exist anywhere else?”

  Fernanda nodded. “Nobody really knows what’s in the interior, but there are unique birds, plants, and animals all over this island. What we were actually after were butterflies and moths. Alex wanted to see if we could find some species never catalogued before, so we were trekking to the interior rain forest where nobody has ever been.”

  “And he invited you along to join in the fun?” Rip tried not to lay the sarcasm on too thick, but the girl flashed him a sideways look anyway.

  “Yes, actually. We all wanted to come.”

  Rip back-pedaled. “Oh, I see. And the other two? Carlos and …”

  “Zack. Carlos is my cousin, and Zack is one of the professor’s students, here for a semester from the States.”

  “So he’s an American?” Doc’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes, well, so is Alex, technically.”

  “And how about you?” Doc asked. “Your English is almost perfect.”

  “I studied at Ohio University for two years. My father said that if we were going to be successful in the global exporting business, we had to learn to speak proper English.”

  “So where did you grow up?”

  “I was born in Chiriquí, in the mountains near Costa Rica. But I live now in Panama City.”

  “So you aren’t planning to work in the family business?”

  She shrugged. “I work there sometimes, and once I finish my degree, well, who knows?”

  Coop came on the radio in Rip’s ear. “Valor Five, this is One. We have eyes on the beach, over.”

  Rip looked at Fernanda. “Hold that thought.” Then he keyed his mike. “Roger, One. Anything to report?”

  “There’s an open boat of some kind, about ten yards off the beach in shallow water. One person with the boat. Three more men sitting on the beach with a few boxes of what looks like ammunition. Plus three AK-74 carbines. Frank is getting digital pictures for Phoenix, over.”

  “You want me to tell Marcel?”

  “I suppose we should. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

  “Roger that. Out.”

  Rip waited a few seconds, then keyed the microphone again. “Valor Three, this is Five. What’s your status, over?”

  “We found the camp but can’t get good eyes on it yet, break.” A few seconds passed, then Sweeney came back. “We’re moving to a higher position to get a better look, over.”

  Fernanda stood. “Do you mind if I go back to that creek we found and freshen up a bit?”

  Rip looked at her. “Um, actually, that’s not a good idea right now. We should stay together.”

  Doc spoke up. “How ’bout I give you a pack of wet wipes. You can go back into the trees over there for privacy, but stay where we can hear you holler if something happens.”

  “I guess I can live with that. Thank you.” She took the package offered by the medic and moved off into the trees.

  When she was out of earshot, Doc said, “That’s one tough girl.”

  Rip nodded. “No kidding. She about beat the snot out of me twice.”

  “Well, she’s been through the ringer, that’s for sure. But do you believe her story about the ITEB?”

  Rip shrugged. “Why would she lie, bro? You don’t think she’s a pirate, do you?”

  Doc chuckled. “If so, she’s the best lookin’ pirate I’ve ever seen.” His smile turned to a frown. “I suppose anything’s possible. We’d better keep an eye on her.”

  “Nah, that doesn’t make sense. She’s wandering the jungle, all alone and beat up. I say her story is believable.” At least he wanted to believe it.

  “I don’t know, but the part about finding the bottle doesn’t make sense. She just found it? In the middle of this?” Doc spread his hands to take in the tall grass, jungle, and mountains. “I mean, that stuff’s unstable, right? If it sat out in the sun for too long, it’d detonate, wouldn’t it?”

  Rip chewed his lip. “I don’t know. Maybe a pirate dropped it. Who knows?”

  “I’ll be interested to see the report on that bottle.”

  “Absolutely, bro. Me too.” Rip walked to the satellite radio and turned it back on. Immediately the receiver crackled. “Valor, this is base, come in, over.”

  He keyed the headset. “This is Valor Five. Go.”

  Marcel’s nasally voice sounded through the headset speaker. “Where have you been? We’ve been trying to raise you for half an hour!”

  “Sorry, base. Communication issues. We got them fixed now, over.”

  “What’s your status?”

  Rip thought for a moment, then keyed the mike. “We have recovered one bottle of ITEB and rescued one hostage so far. The pirates have a boat on the beach, with at least four people, ammunition, and weapons, over.”

  “What? I specifically instructed you to stand fast until further notice! I’m going to file an official reprimand with your commander over this!”

  Doc had been leaning close, listening. “He makes that sound like a bad thing, doesn’t he?”

  Rip rolled his eyes. “Roger, base, official reprimand. Good copy. Will keep you informed of our progress. Over and out.”

  He held the headset away from his ear and let Marcel rant for a few seconds before shutting the radio off again. “Dude is scaring the birds.”

  Doc chuckled, shaking his head. “That guy must have gotten beat up a lot when he was little.”

  “Or something. You’d think he’d be glad we’re making progress. Let’s hope Phoenix gets back soon.”

  Coop beeped in on Rip’s headset again. “Valor Five, this is One. The boat is now leaving with four men on board. They didn’t load any cargo in the boat, so I don’t think they’re moving the ITEB. We’re going to let it go, over.”

  Rip could hear the craft’s motor from where he stood. “Good copy, One. We’ve earned an official reprimand already. Keep up the good work.”

  He could imagine the look on John’s face as he called back. “Will do. Out.”

  Fernanda walked back into camp, looking refreshed despite the bruises on her face. She must have used her fingers to comb her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. Rip was surprised, not just
at how attractive she was all of a sudden, but at how she seemed to be taking this all pretty much in stride.

  She smiled at Kelley and returned the packet of wet wipes. “Thank you, Doc. I feel a hundred percent better. I wish I had my hat, though. These chitres like to buzz around my head.”

  Doc waved one of the pesky gnats away from his own head. “Is that what you call these things? They’re so small, but man, can they bite!”

  Rip had noticed them too. “Yeah, they’re like flying devil spawn of a mosquito and a crocodile, you know?”

  His radio crackled. “Valor Five, this is Valor Three. We have enemy contact and are taking fire, over!”

  “Sweeney and Buzz!” Rip jumped up, and before he could respond, the sound of gunfire drifted to them through the trees from the direction of the mountains. He punched the button on his radio. “Five here, do you need backup?”

  He could hear the urgency in Sweeney’s voice, as well as heavy gunfire as the weapons sergeant shouted, “Affirmative! Buzz is hit!”

  Doc’s face was grim as he snatched up his aid bag and weapon. “Let’s go, buddy.”

  Rip was already moving. He hit the button on his mike again. “We’re on our way!” He turned and pointed at Fernanda. “Stay put, chica. We’ll be back.”

  The rusty metal chair Chombon had been sitting on crashed to the floor when he jumped to his feet. Outside the crumbling concrete barracks, the sound of gunfire echoed off the mountain, drifting through the holes in the walls where windows once had been.

  He looked over at Cesar. “They’ve got him. Call every man. Go!” He snatched up the new RPK machine gun that Hugo had brought and slapped a circular metal 75-round magazine into its receiver. He was going to end the Mudman problem once and for all.

  He pounded down the dirt path between mango trees toward the supply hut. El hombre de Lodo had been stealing food from them, and that was where they had set their ambush.

  The Mudman would run as soon as the bullets started flying, but Chombon had planned for that. The path of least resistance away from the ambush led down one of the sunken creek beds, which during the rainy season were rushing rivers but now were mostly dry. His men had found the Mudman’s footprints in the riverbed and knew this was the way he came.