Tourist Trapped (26 page)

Amanda pulled out a picture of the Ocean Fox. The boat in front of her resembled the one in the photo. She pointed north. “Fernando, can you take us around the corner of the cove? Let’s make it look as if we’re exploring a reef.”

He slowed the boat and made a tight turn, taking them out of sight of the yacht. He cut the motor.

Think. What would Cooper do?
Miriam was a great sidekick, but she couldn’t fill Cooper’s shoes. Nobody could…absolutely no one.

Focus.
She envisioned the goofball insisting on swimming over to check out the boat—who cares if he’d never dived before? He’d ask for a two-minute tutorial, don the scuba gear and plop in.

“Can you help me with this?” Amanda reached for an air tank. “I need to get over to the Ocean Fox.”

“You can’t, it’s too dangerous,” Miriam said. “Let’s call the police.”

“You call Yesenia while I take a look. We need to know what’s happening on that boat.”

“Señorita Amanda, you need to be an excellent diver to swim here. The current is strong and you’ll be swimming against it.”

“I guess that’ll make it easier to get back to this boat, won’t it? I’ll take my chances.” Amanda removed the loaded gun from her bag and zipped it into a pocket of the dive jacket.

She slipped on her scuba suit and flippers and Fernando helped her pull on the tank. While she checked the regulator, she felt pressure against her shin.

“Take this, too, for protection,” Fernando said, fastening a sheathed knife to her leg.

She looked down at the brave little blade, wondering how it would fare against a shower of bullets, thankful she had the gun from Lucia. “Thanks, Fernando. Let’s hope I don’t need either weapon.” She waddled to the boat’s edge and jumped in.

THIRTY-TWO

Thursday December 17, Mid-morning

If Amanda hadn’t
been on a mission to save her sister and brother-in-law from gun-toting-thugs, she would have relished the dive. Magnificence surrounded her: fish of all colors, shapes and sizes populated the landscape. Amberjacks and groupers glided through the turquoise waters while parrotfish and surgeonfish skimmed over the coral, munching on algae and tiny organisms. Blue tangs and grunts darted about, as if playing tag, but their antics kept them out of the gullets of predators.

She kicked against the cool current that tried to sweep her away from her goal, and gave thanks for the excruciating hours she had invested into spinning classes. She’d never fathomed sweating at the gym would help save lives.

A string of images threaded their way through her mind. In what shape would she find Rebecca and Trent? Had they been fed? Beaten?
Please, Lord, don’t let me find them dead.

The sterling scales of a barracuda flashed in the distance. The sounds of her breathing and the bubbles it generated intruded on the underwater silence. Stingrays, starfish, and skates peppered the seabed among the reef formations.

Cooper would be impressed.

She thrashed against the water’s flow, fighting for every inch of headway. On occasion she surfaced to verify her location. The snail-paced progress felt like a breast-stroke through molasses. The muscles in her thighs and calves burned, but she kept moving.

Did Miriam reach Yesenia? Were police on the way? Maybe they’d magically appear by the time Amanda made it to the fishing boat.

The current eased once she turned the corner and entered the cove, enabling her to speed up. She covered more water in the last ten minutes of her swim than she had during the first half hour. As she neared the vessel, every fiber in Amanda’s body begged her to wait for help, but each moment of hesitation provided the kidnappers with another chance to harm Trent and Rebecca.

The outline of the bottom of the boat grew sharper with every flick of her flipper. She slipped beneath it, passing by the cold, steel propellers, careful to give them a wide berth in case the boat started up. Trying to keep her breathing even, Amanda rested her ear on the hull. She couldn’t detect any vibrations or movement. She glided around to the stern and surfaced, listening. No noise except for water lapping against the fiberglass. Almost a shadow, the name Ocean Fox seeped through a sloppy paint job.

Her thumping heart about to burst out of her chest, she pulled herself up, trembling arms and all. She perched on the swim platform, prepared to jump back in if spotted. Still no sound.

Amanda pushed the goggles up to her forehead and yanked the regulator out of her mouth. With shaking fingers, she unzipped her vest pocket and pulled out the gun, switching off the safety. She braced herself for what she might see, and then raised her head high enough to look over the back of the boat. No blood, no bodies. Nothing.

Refusing to remove her equipment in case she needed a fast getaway, she hoisted herself over the back and onto the deck. The wind pointed the bow toward shore, hiding her in the stern. The boat floated close enough to the coastline to hear the surf. She stole a glimpse of the cove. Dense jungle almost touched the sea; a meager strip of sand and rocks separated land from water.

I’ve lost my mind. I’m crawling—alone—around a boat hijacked by men with rifles, possessing little more than a cap gun and a butter knife. Gone off the deep end? I’ve plunged into the abyss of ignoramuses.

She inhaled and exhaled.
Here goes.
She peeked through the window of the cabin door, scanning the mess deck. Nothing stirred. Amanda cracked the door open a couple of inches. No sounds. She took another deep breath, opened it wide and peered in. Empty.

She slipped off her flippers and carried them in her left hand, the gun in her right. She ventured into the cabin, surveying the head and the stateroom. Nobody. The stale, hot air reeked of rotten food and rancid beer. Dirty dishes crowded the sink and empty beer bottles rolled around the floor, but no blood stains or damage.

Although relieved not to find corpses, Amanda didn’t unearth any leads. Where were Rebecca and Trent? Had the kidnappers abandoned the boat and whisked the hostages off to the Mexican equivalent of Timbuktu?

And what if they hadn’t? Could the goons be on their way to the boat while she stood in the middle of it, like a ninny?

Her stomach lurched. She had no escape route.
Get on deck. Now.
Amanda hurried back out.

The accessibility of the water calmed her and allowed Amanda to refocus. She climbed the ladder to the flybridge, but found it empty.

Frustration flushed over Amanda. Nothing more could be accomplished on the boat. She’d return to the dive boat empty-handed: no sister, no brother-in-law, and no leads. Her breath caught as she imagined Miriam’s expression when Amanda confessed her failure.

At least she didn’t have to report the missing as dead…yet.

A purring sound reached the boat from shore. She leaned over the side and spotted a man speeding along the beach on an ATV with a rifle slung over his back.

We’re back in business.

* * *

Certain the rifle-toting
ATV driver held Rebecca and Trent, Amanda decided to hightail it back to the dive boat and report in with the police.

She slipped on her flippers and swung her leg up to straddle the side of the boat. The knife handle caught on a line of rope. She stopped.
The blade’s useless against bullets, but not rubber.
Amanda could disable the vessel, eliminating an escape route.

She whipped her leg back in and searched for the engine. She found it beneath the fourth hatch door. She plopped onto the teak deck, set down the gun and pulled the knife from its sheath. She leaned over the engine, grabbed a hose, and slit it. Then another and another. Some spewed fluids—coolant, oil, gasoline.
Mother Nature, forgive me.

She righted herself and adjusted her stance to balance on the flippers while she admired her handiwork. Fluids dripped from jagged ends of tubing and fumes circled the deck.

The hum of a boat engine. She looked up. The winds and current had swung the Ocean Fox around, exposing the stern to the beach. An inflatable dinghy bounced across the water, heading straight for her. Gunshots reverberated through the cove, pulsating like a drum line on steroids. A wall of bullets pelted the boat and the hot metal of one ripped through Amanda’s thigh.

She couldn’t out-swim a boat—especially one porting killers with assault rifles. She dropped the knife and grabbed the semi-automatic, firing at the raft. She ripped five holes in the dinghy and at least one in the driver. The boat turned back, but one gunman continued the onslaught of bullets. She leapt to the rail and rolled over, into the sea. With trembling fingers, she adjusted her goggles and regulator before submerging, clinging to the gun. Bullets zipped through the water, resembling trails of confetti. The saltwater gnawed at her wound.

Amanda swam as hard as she could to go deep and exit the inlet. She stayed close to the bottom, startling an octopus, and disrupting a few skates and a couple of flounder.

The bullets finally abated. Amanda’s heart hammered against her chest and her right thigh felt as if somebody had attacked it with a chainsaw, but she survived.

She swam out of the cove and rode the current along the island. She risked surfacing for a moment to orient herself. The whine of an engine increased and, to her relief, the dive boat came into view. She waved her arms.

The boat slowed and Fernando fished her out, yelling, “Go! Go! I’ve got her.” Miriam gunned the boat and cornered it, sending them back up the coastline.

Amanda sprawled across the deck, spent. Fernando took over the helm and Miriam hurried to Amanda. “Thank goodness you’re alive—we heard gunshots.” She stared at Amanda’s leg. “You’ve been hit.”

“I’m okay—I didn’t see them, Rebecca and Trent. They weren’t on the boat. Nobody was—and no blood.”

Relief flitted over Miriam’s face, a momentary relaxing of her expression before her knitted brows and tight lips returned. “But the shooting.”

“From shore. They’re hiding in the jungle.”

Once well out of sight of the Ocean Fox, Fernando stopped the boat. He removed Amanda’s tank and flippers and helped her peel out of the scuba suit. While Miriam phoned Yesenia, he bandaged Amanda’s wound; the bullet took with it a slice of muscle and fat, ripping a gash along the side of her thigh.

Miriam handed Amanda the phone and she provided details about the boat, the potential hideout and the rain of gunfire. Fernando then confirmed their coordinates. He handed the phone back to Amanda, turned the boat around and sped up. “They want us to head down to Punta Morena and wait.”

Amanda got back on the line. “Why are you sending us south?”

“It’s not far from the site and will keep you out of harm’s way until we get there.”

“But we might lose them—and who knows if they’ll harm Rebecca?”

“Señora, we have to follow procedures to protect everyone. Please wait at the resort.”

Amanda hung up.

“What’s going on?” Miriam said. “Are they coming?”

“We’re to meet up with them at a resort down the beach. Fernando, how far away?”

“We’re almost there.”

The adrenaline still pumping through her veins,
Go back!
screamed in Amanda’s head, but she knew they needed to wait for bigger firepower.

Her leg throbbed. Considering the havoc raised by a single bullet grazing her thigh, and the speed at which the bullets had spewed, she shuddered to think of the damage one of those guns could do to a defenseless body in a matter of seconds.

Complete and utter devastation.

* * *

Gunshots rang out
in the distance, followed by hollering. Rifles fired, over and over. Rebecca heard the footsteps of someone running toward the hut. Was this it? Would they shoot her now?

The door flew open and the girl, breathless, filled the entrance. “Run, señora, or they will kill you.” The adolescent disappeared into the jungle.

Rebecca peered out the doorframe, waiting for her eyes to adjust after endless days in darkness. She listened for the gunfire and shouts to help orient her. They came from behind the shed
. Give me strength, God.
Jaguars, deadly snakes, and wild monkeys were probably out there, but she’d take her chances.

She stepped out of the hut and waded into the dense vegetation, tripping over branches and rocks. Sticks jabbed into her feet, her feeble sandals barely covering her soles.

The shooting stopped. Every few yards Rebecca paused and listened for the kidnappers. Unable to see the sun or to hear any sounds to lead her, she wanted to make sure she didn’t wander in a circle and back into camp. She kept the noise of her captors to the rear. The yelling resumed; they must have discovered her escape.

Rebecca tried to move quickly without disturbing the world around her, but the jungle refused to cooperate. Rustling bushes and crackling branches announced, “She’s here! Grab her!”

The commotion of others stomping through the jungle grew closer. Each time she moved, they homed in on her. Would it be best to hurry or to hide? Her body vibrated with each thump of her heart.

She tripped and rolled into a hollow beneath a rotting tree. The ground gave way enough for her to wedge herself even deeper below the mangled mass of branches. New growth sprouting from the decaying lump helped hide her.

The hurried footsteps closed in. She held her breath, watching the feet of two abductors run by. They continued forward.

All of the activity passed her.
Now what? Should I run in the other direction or stay here?

A barrage of bullets pummeled the flora, slamming into trees and bushes everywhere; some pelted the ground near her. Then almost complete silence as she heard the crack of new magazines being loaded, followed by another rain of ammo.

Splitting wood, bullets piercing the ground, all around her the world absorbed the metallic harbingers of death.

The guns stopped. “Disparar contra ella,” a deep voice said.

“No, no! Por favor!” The young girl screamed. Two rounds rang out louder than all of the others combined.

Once again silence roared. She couldn’t hear any reloading of ammunition, just a deathly stillness. Every animal had probably vacated the area or had been shot. The void of sound felt almost deafening after listening to the clamor of the jungle for so many days.

The kidnappers neared again, this time walking. She heard them saunter by, heading back in the direction she thought led them past the hut.

The tumult of gunmen pushing through jungle faded, followed by shouting and banging of equipment. The rumble of a jeep grew stronger, then stopped. Voices rose and another round of gunfire. Then it sounded like two people ran back into the jungle. “You bastard, you weren’t supposed to kill her, not Becca!” The voice sounded familiar. Bullets engulfed the forest again and then, once more, silence. The jeep started up and took off.

Rebecca didn’t move, afraid someone lay in wait. Slowly the sounds of the jungle returned. First the insects, then the birds. Bugs crawled along her legs, but she didn’t move.

After what seemed like hours, she crept out of the hollow, raising her head through the leaves. No one in sight.

She continued to wait, uncertain if she would be shot as soon as she stood up. Birds flew through the canopy as if nothing happened.

A coal-black snake slithered up a branch next to her, its tongue tasting the air. It startled her into action. Rebecca said a quick prayer, then jumped up and ran as fast as she could, uncaring of the noise she made. Step after step, she waited to hear a bullet whiz by or feel one penetrate her body. But none came. The more time that passed, the braver she grew, running harder.

She stepped on something soft that felt wrong. Rebecca looked down, into the glassy eyes of the girl who had saved her. A puddle of blood from a bullet hole in her forehead had spilled over and trickled into her scalp. Another crimson hole ran through her chest. Already flies swarmed over the gaunt body, ready to consume the scant skin and muscle. Rebecca shuddered, thinking of the wild animals that would make a meal out of the young girl.