Warriors in Paradise (10 page)

Fortunately, the speedboat had a convertible top to protect us from the incessant rain. Once we were all seated, the driver hit the throttle, and we sped across the bay.

“Hey, skipper, where is the yacht?” I asked.

“In front of Icacos—you know, the naval base,” he replied.

“How safe are we?” asked Valentina.

The man in white responded, “Don’t worry, senorita. You are very safe. The Camaney II—that is the name of the yacht—is sixty-eight meters long. It was custom built in 2010 for Mr. Nicanor Toro, your host and my boss, by Nobiskrug in Rendsburg, Germany. It has a steel hull and aluminum superstructure, with a beam of twelve meters and a three-point-six-meter draft. The yacht has anchor stabilizers that work at zero speed. This will ensure your comfort even in rough waters. There are sleeping accommodations for up to fourteen guests in seven suites. There are usually sixteen to eighteen crew members onboard.”

The man knows his boat, I thought.

“How many guests have arrived so far?” Charlie asked.

“There must be twenty now, so there will be twenty-six when your party arrives,” replied the man in white.

Fifteen minutes later, we were alongside the Camaney II. It looked imposingly huge, with graceful aerodynamic lines.

As we disembarked onto a wooden platform and started walking up the stairs, Caleb asked, “How much do you think this yacht cost?”

I responded, “Between a hundred and two hundred million US.”

I then added, “If you have to ask that question about a yacht, it means you probably couldn’t afford to buy it. This kind of yacht is a black hole that is sucking in a lot of money as we speak. I figure that between docking fees, fuel, repair, maintenance, and wages, Toro is paying close to a million dollars a month.”

“The rich are different from you and me,” Juliette said philosophically.

Charlie responded, “Yes, they have more money.”

We all laughed.

Juliette turned around and punched Charlie jokingly on his massive right shoulder, saying, “Idiot! You know what I mean!”

“Well,” I said, “they live according to the golden rule—the one that says, ‘He who has the gold rules.’”

Juliette said, “That is really profound. You are even worse than Charlie.”

At the top of the stairs, a tall, blond man of about forty shook each of our hands, saying “Hello, hello, hello…” After he finished shaking our hands, he introduced himself in Scandinavian-accented English, saying, “I hope you all speak English; sorry, I don’t speak Spanish. Welcome aboard Camaney the Second. I am Viktor Sandquist, the captain of this fine vessel, at your service. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Please, will you follow my first officer to the main salon?” Then he turned around and walked away.

As we followed the first officer, accompanied by three men in white holding umbrellas, Charlie asked, “What is the story with a Swedish captain who doesn’t speak Spanish, working for a Mexican?”

I replied, “Unlike rich Americans, rich Mexicans can speak more than one language. Usually English is their second language. Also, many wealthy tycoons hire foreign captains who don’t speak Spanish so they can talk about their business dealings without having to worry about being overheard.”

To say that we were impressed would have been an understatement. We were speechless. The main salon had space-age furniture and impressive paintings on the walls. Waiters were serving champagne and canapés. The other twenty guests were distributed among various little groups.

The first officer turned around and said to us, “Allow me to introduce you to your host.” He took us to a small group of four men and one woman. As we approached, a chubby man about fifty years old and five feet six inches in height stopped talking and looked at us with sharp, unblinking eyes. The woman standing next to him was an attractive fortysomething, about five feet seven inches tall and weighing around 125 pounds. She had a smart, round Scottish face with shrewd greenish eyes.

Approaching the group, Juliette and Camille said, almost at the same time, “Hello, Nina!” They then went up to the woman to embrace her and give her light kisses on each of her cheeks.

She said, “Hello, Juliette. Hello, Camille. How nice of you to accept our invitation. Let me introduce you to our host, Mr. Nicanor Toro.”

The chubby little man extended his hand and first grabbed Juliette’s hand, kissing the back of it, and then did the same with Camille. “It is always such a pleasure to meet such beautiful women. I am honored that you have accepted our invitation. Please,” he said to us, “welcome to my humble abode, and please make it your home.”

If this yacht was his humble abode, I would hate to see his primary residence. Of course, I wouldn’t mind making the yacht my home, I thought, as long as he paid for the upkeep.

We all shook hands and introduced ourselves to the others in the group. It was a strange mixture of people. Aside from Nina and Toro, there was an American of about five feet ten inches tall and 170 pounds, with piercing blue eyes on a sharp face with thin, cruel-looking lips. He said his name was Carson. There was a thin, dark Mexican, about five feet eight inches tall, with brownish eyes on a weak face. He had the Spanish title accorded to members of the legal profession and said that his name was Cienfuegos. The group was completed by a man of about forty-five who had a leathery, weather-beaten face with yellow eyes and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. He said his name was Christian Millán. His accent said he was Colombian. He had a certain presence about him. I thought he might be an equal to Toro and Carson. But, on second thought, he seemed a little rough around the edges, and maybe he was just an important employee. An intriguing group, I thought.

We thanked our host for the invitation and voiced our appreciation of his beautiful yacht. I actually couldn’t feel the rough sea and the angry waves. This boat was an example of Teutonic engineering at its best.

We excused ourselves and went to the hors d’oeuvre table. While we were tasting the almas and beluga caviar,
escamoles
, bird’s nest soup, giant shrimp, and other expensive and tasty appetizers, we were also looking around the room. The other males looked as if they might be Italian and Mexican mobsters. Their clothing and color combinations looked ostentatious, and to me, they gave an impression of lack of taste. Four young girls with tiny bright dresses and the sculptured bodies of pole dancers were talking loudly and acting in an unruly manner. Three other girls, who seemed foreign, demure, innocent, and pretty, looked completely out of place.

The high-power group of Nina and Toro was quietly talking and throwing surreptitious glances in our general direction.

I told the others, “Guys, I’m getting some bad vibes.”

“Yes, it feels like a convention of Crooks and Criminals Anonymous,” said Charlie. “If I had to guess, I would say that the little group with Toro are the bosses, and the other men are their soldiers. Four of the girls are call girls, and those three over there are guests just like us.”

Valentina said, “I don’t understand why we were invited.”

Juliette and Camille were feeling uncomfortable and a little nervous. “Perhaps we should go back to your house, Santi,” said Juliette. “We could say to Nina and Toro that we are not feeling well and that we have a touch of Montezuma’s revenge.”

“Yeah,” said Caleb. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

At that moment, the three girls came to the hors d’oeuvre table and asked Juliette in Russian-accented English, “Were you not staying at the Nirvana Hotel?”

“Yes, we were,” answered Juliette.

“That is where we saw you and your friend,” said another of the Russian girls.

“So, you were also invited here by Nina Scott?” asked Camille.

“Yes, we were, but we feel a little uncomfortable,” said one of the Russian girls.

“So do we. We’re planning to leave as soon as possible,” said Juliette.

“Can we leave with you, please?”

“Of course you can. We can all fit onboard the speedboat,” said Camille.

We all looked at one another and nodded.

The nine of us went back to the little group, and I said to Toro, “Sir, I am sorry to say that the girls and my American friends are not feeling well. Something they ate today is affecting them. So would you please excuse us and allow your staff to take us back to my house? The Russian girls are also feeling under the weather and would like to come with us.”

“What is this? You just arrived, and now you’re leaving, and you are taking the Russkis with you?” Toro sounded irritated and angered.

Nina immediately intervened and said, “I am sorry. If you guys are not feeling well and you want to leave, of course you can go. If you have to go, you have to go, no question about it. But while we wait for the speedboat to be readied to take you back, please have a drink with us. Mr. Toro has this wonderful Dom Perignon champagne aged for fifteen years. It is absolutely delicious. A glass while we wait, then?”

“Of course,” said a relieved Juliette along with Camille and the Russian girls in a chorus.

“Of course, thank you. We would love to have a drink of champagne with you,” said Charlie.

Nina walked toward the bar and talked to the bartender. He bent down behind the bar counter and produced three bottles of Dom Perignon, which he placed on the bar along with fourteen champagne flutes. He then opened the champagne and proceeded to fill the glasses. Nina placed nine flutes on one tray and five on a second tray. She then picked up the tray with the nine glasses while a waiter took the tray with the five glasses. Nina came up to us and offered each of us a flute of champagne, while the waiter deliver the five glasses on his tray to Toro and his group. We all raised our flutes to the toast of “Viva Mexico!” and then we all drank.

Shortly after the toast, I saw Nina Scott holding Camille. Mr. Carson was walking with Juliette, the lawyer was sitting with one of the Russian girls, the Colombian was helping another Russian girl to stand, and Toro was guiding the third Russian girl to a sofa. I was with Valentina, and while I was trying to hold her upright, I realized that I was beginning to feel dizzy. I managed to lead her to one of the sofas, where she immediately slumped down. I turned and saw Charlie and Caleb looking at me with confusion in their eyes. I realized then that we had been drugged.

I signaled for them to come with me as I went to the hors d’oeuvre table. Once there, I stuffed caviar in my mouth. I then stuck two fingers down my throat in a desperate effort to make myself vomit. Charlie and Caleb realized what I was doing and did the same.

Two men took hold of each of us and tried to prevent our vomiting maneuver. The three of us managed to free ourselves. I wanted to go after Nina, but at least eight of Toro’s soldiers were in the way. Targeting the soldier nearest me, I feinted to the left and then moved to the right in order to deliver a blow to his kidneys, which brought him to his knees. Two of the others came at me, throwing a flurry of punches, which I took on my arms, shoulders, chest, and face. I grabbed the backs of their heads and brought their faces together with a loud, sickening crunch. I saw that Charlie and Caleb had already disposed of four soldiers. We were getting the upper hand.

The doors to the cabin opened, and a dozen men in white ran into the room and threw themselves on top of Charlie, Caleb, and me. We were rapidly weakening; I felt disjointed; the drug Nina had given us was acting fast, too fast.

The last thing I remember seeing was Toro grabbing a bottle of champagne and bringing it down squarely on Caleb’s head. I knew he was dead.

My last thought was for Valentina, whom I had just met and couldn’t protect…my sweet, sweet Valentina. I am so sorry…

Then the blackness engulfed me.

Chapter 5: The Death of a Road

Sand, salt, and Santi

I
fell off the road into a deep black pit. I couldn’t move. Somebody was holding me down. I was unable to remember how I had veered off the road and fallen into the pit.

I knew if I closed my eyes and slept a little, I would feel better. I realized that my eyes were not open. I tried to open them, but I could not. I strained to move my hands, and I was powerless. I tried to count to ten, but I was unable.

I had the feeling I was with somebody, but I couldn’t remember who. That somebody was kissing my face. That somebody had to be a woman. Her lips were cold and wet. I tried to tell her to stop, to let me sleep, that I would be better as soon as I woke up. However, I couldn’t talk. She kept on touching my face with those cold lips. She licked one of my eyes open. She had black lips. I guessed she had fallen into the pit with me. I opened my other eye. She had reddish hair covered with tiny brown specks. I managed to move my right hand. My hand pulled my arm. I rubbed my face. It was covered in sand.

I tasted salt in my mouth.

I started moving and tried to sit up. I grabbed the woman and pushed myself into a sitting position. The movement caused me to get dizzy and increased the pounding in my head, but I managed to stay sitting up.

I counted to ten. I felt happy. I was able to count again. I didn’t want to go back to sleep; I wanted to stand up. I knew I had to look for somebody, but by the love of God, I could not recall whom.