The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (50 page)

Carefully, he followed the man with the gun as the one on the dive deck looked on.

A young voice called down from the flybridge in Creole.
 

They’re from Haiti.
 

Kirk slowly turned his head to see and squinted against the bright external lights, every one of which was on. The boy was dark and wiry, much like the man with the gun. But his hair was cropped close and he wore shorts and a light cotton shirt, both of which were khaki. As Kirk turned back to the gunman, he realized how old the man was now that he could see the flecks of grey in the flattop and the deep wrinkles in his brown face. Apparently piracy didn’t depend on physical strength. Unlike the other two, the man on the dive deck was fat. Though his arms and legs were spindly, his dirty tank top ballooned grotesquely over his paunch. He was nearly bald but his beard was a long frizzy mess. A menacing smile formed on his lips when he saw Kirk looking at him.

Kirk looked from their captor, to the young man, to the man on the dive deck. Each one had either a gun or a machete. There was no way they’d be fighting their way out of this. The marine radio was in the cockpit but the gunman stood between it and Kirk. Though the single side band could easily raise Jamaica or Cuba, it was out of reach, as was any help it could summon.

As the boy came down the ladder backwards, Kirk realized the deck was getting crowded. A relatively large space for a boat, it was still only about twenty feet square. He checked behind him. Mel was standing there with one arm raised about shoulder high but the other behind her back.

“Don’t do it,” he whispered. “You’ll get us both killed.”

But Mel wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she glared at the man with the gun.

“Show the hands!” the man yelled.

Just as the young man jumped to the deck from the ladder, Mel lunged at him with the knife. The gunman took aim but Kirk charged him. As he swung the pistol toward Kirk, the man quickly backed away. But the deck was small and Kirk moved fast for a big man. He jammed the gunman’s arm upward as the shot went off into the air. The wiry man was no weakling though and, for a moment, they struggled. Another shot rang out as the gunman instinctively ducked, wrenching himself from Kirk’s grip. The shot hadn’t come from
his
gun.

“Stop!” someone yelled.

“Get off me!” Mel screamed.

Kirk spun toward Mel’s voice. The boy had her on the deck, straddling her midsection, her hands pinned over her head, the knife still clutched in one.

“Stop!” yelled the man on the dive deck as yet another gunshot filled the air.

“Let go of the knife!” Kirk yelled.

But the boy was already taking care of that. He slammed Mel’s hands into the deck. The knife clattered away and Mel cried out at the pain.

“Emile!” yelled the man directly behind him.

The boy started at the sound of his name but he didn’t take his eyes off Mel.

For a moment, everyone was still. Then Kirk felt someone shove him from behind as the man barked several phrases in Creole. Emile stood and jerked Mel up with him. Like the older man, he was stronger than he looked. The older man quickly inserted himself between Emile and Mel, and roughly shoved her away. Kirk caught her as she stumbled toward him. Heated words were exchanged between Emile and the older man, whose name was apparently Seydou.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” he whispered harshly into Mel’s ear.

She yanked herself from his grip, brushed the hair out of her eyes, and rubbed her wrists.

“At least I’m trying to do
something
,” she seethed.

• • • • •

Mel turned her glare from Kirk to the boy who’d tackled her. The argument seemed to have ended. The boy stood back as the one with the gun stooped and picked up the knife. The man with the flattop turned back to her and Kirk, hefting it in his hand.

“Much trouble,” he said, looking at the two of them, the gun trained on them again. “Maybe too much.”

“My company will pay a ransom,” Kirk said.

“Okay,” the man said. “But we have the boat now and you,” he flicked his eyes to Mel, “are
trouble
.”

He pointed the gun at her.

“Go ahead,” Mel challenged, holding her chin high.
 

“
Shut up
,” Kirk quickly interjected. “
This isn’t a movie.
” He held up a hand to the gunman. “There’s more. There’s a reason to keep us alive.”

Mel turned to stare at him.

“Kirk, don’t,” she said, gripping his arm.

He ignored her.

“Take a look in the dining room below,” he said.

“No!” she yelled.
 

He’s telling them where the cross is. It might be important provenience for the wreck. It might be worth thousands in itself but, if it could establish the identity of the ship, it’d be worth millions. And it’s
my
wreck. The one my father left
me
.

“Send Emile,” Kirk said. “Tell him to find the cross.”

Mel started for the stairwell but Kirk grabbed her firmly around the waist and pulled her back, nearly picking her up off the ground.

“Kirk!” she screamed. “Don’t!”

But it was too late. Emile apparently understood English because at a nod from the older man, he immediately went down the stairs. Even the fat man from the dive deck was interested now. He took up a seat behind Seydou, his gun still ready.

“Dammit, Kirk!” Mel yelled, struggling against his rock solid arms. “You can’t. You have no right!”

“I’m trying to keep us
alive
,” he whispered into her ear though she tried to jerk away.

Emile came bounding up the steps, his eyes wide, holding the cross out in front of him. Under the artificial lights of the boat, it glimmered more than it had in sunlight. Reflected points of red light danced over Emile’s khaki shirt and then over Seydou’s white shirt as Emile handed the breathtaking object to him. Seydou quickly holstered his gun and gave the knife to Emile.

“Seydou,” said Kirk. “I’m Kirk Hatcher and this is Mel Bass.”

She swiveled her head to glare at him.

“We’re treasure hunters,” Kirk said. “Famous ones.”

Seydou could barely take his eyes off the cross and Emile could barely take his eyes from Mel.

“There’s more where that came from,” Kirk said.

The traitor!
Her father’s voice rang in her head.
The man ruined me.
 

Mel tried to pry Kirk’s hands loose.

“Let me go,” she hissed but he jerked her so hard against him, she gasped.

Seydou cast a sidelong glance at the seated man. He said something that made the fat man smirk. Seydou turned back to them.

“Where is it?” he said. “Where is the rest?”

“About thirty feet below,” Kirk said.

“We don’t know!” Mel yelled at the same time.

Seydou grinned and glanced at the ocean.

“Bon,” he said, nodding. “Good.”

Seydou stirred the pot slowly as Jaston mumbled at the table behind him. The offering must be good tonight. Siete Puntas had provided for them yet again. He had blessed them as he never had before. Emile stalked into the kitchen and hung the key ring on a nail next to the door.

“Locked up tight?” Seydou asked, glancing at his nephew’s sullen face.

The boy nodded as he set his gun down on the table and stared at the ruby studded cross standing in the middle of it.

Although the deserted little town of Lulu didn’t have much in the way of buildings, it had two saloons and one prison. They’d used the prison twice before for kidnapping victims. Months had gone by as negotiations started and stopped and then started again. But the two next door weren’t quite kidnapping victims.

Jaston poured another shot of Clarin and downed it in one gulp. Siete Puntas would be here soon. This was Jaston’s one and only use. He channeled the great
loa
almost at will.

On the trip back to Navassa, Seydou had thoroughly checked out their new prize while Jaston held the treasure hunters at bay and Emile piloted. It was a big boat but quick, even towing their own. Though he found no more treasure, he’d found wine and Jaston had polished off a bottle before they’d dropped anchor in the bay.

He burped loudly and Emile grimaced.

“The
loa
is close,” Seydou said. “Be careful how you act.”

Emile glanced at Jaston and then back at Seydou.

Just then, Jaston’s head hit the table, making Emile jump. Jaston began to mumble, quietly at first, but the sound quickly grew louder until suddenly he was yelling. As he raised his head, Seydou turned off the burner and set the pot aside. Emile scooted his chair back and quickly stood.

Jaston’s eyes were rolled back so far that only the whites were visible. His body shuddered violently, making his head waggle, and spittle dripped from the downturned corners of his mouth.

Seydou grasped the amulet on his chest and held it out in front of him.

“Siete Puntas,” he intoned in a loud voice. “We welcome you.”

• • • • •

“Shut up!” Mel screamed, her voice ringing in the concrete room.
 

Kirk reached out to her but she simply backed up. They were in adjoining prison cells, separated by bars. And
that
was fine with her.

“Just calm down and listen to me,” Kirk said, holding on to the bars. “We need to bide our time. Find a weakness.”

Mel paced to the farthest corner of the small, sweltering cell. A single kerosene lamp lit the dark interior, its acrid smoke rising in small tendrils. It sat on the floor in the small corridor that fronted the two cell doors.

Mel hugged herself, put her back to the cinder block corner, and refused to look at Kirk. He stood on the thin, grey, sweat-stained mattress that lay on the floor next to the bars. Her mattress lay next to her feet, against the wall. The only other things in the cells were dirty plastic buckets without handles–presumably the toilets.

“Mel,” Kirk said. “We need to gain their trust. Find the weak link. Then we can make our move, try to escape. Anything else would be suicide. We’d be dead already, except for the treasure.”

She swung her glare on him.

“Don’t talk about it!” she yelled. “Just shut up!”

She put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.
How could he?
Only hours ago they’d made love. She’d trusted him
completely
, driven her father’s words from her mind.
And now?
Now he showed who he really was.
 

“Dammit, Mel!” Kirk yelled. “Stop acting like a child!”

A child?

Her eyes snapped open and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“My father was right about you,” she glowered. “You’re a
traitor
.”

In the dim light she saw him cock his head at her and scowl.

“
What?
” he asked, anger tinging his voice.

She took a step forward.

“He told me everything,” she spat. “About the
San Juan
.”

“What?” he said again, sounding puzzled this time. “The San–”

“You were good. When he got close to the Santa Margarita, you lured him away with the San Juan.”

“I
what?
” Kirk said, gripping the bars.

“You couldn’t stand to see him succeed, could you?” she said, the words coming fast. “So you send him off on a wild goose chase about a wreck you never saw and then
you
find the Margarita.
You
profit from all those years he narrowed in on it. And my father spends the rest of his life finding little trinkets from the San Juan and never the motherlode.”

Kirk just stared at her.

“That’s right! He told me
everything
. You
ruined
him. He left to find the San Juan and then you swooped in to take the Margarita.”

She spun away from him.

“And now you’re doing the same to me,” she said, her voice quavering. “The only thing I have left of my father, the only thing he left to me.” She turned back to him. “And you’d give it to
them
, as if it were
yours
to trade. Well it’s
not
.”

“Mel,” he said quietly.

“You should have see him,” she said, her eyes tearing up. “At the end. He loved you like a son. His last thoughts were about
you
.”

The rattling sound of keys caused them both to look at the small front room of the prison. Light from a lantern cast long shadows through the open doorway and there was the sound of someone mumbling.

• • • • •

Kirk watched the strange procession as they passed his cell and headed for Mel’s.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Emile held a chicken under his arm and cast a fearful glance in his direction. Seydou had donned a white cap that matched the rest of his outfit and he held a small staff in front of him, topped with a collection of multi-colored feathers. In his other hand, he held a clear glass bottle with a clear liquid inside.

Jaston fumbled with the padlock and chain that locked Mel’s cell. Kirk crossed to the corner closest to them and gripped the bars.

“What are you doing?” he said, his voice rising, which only made Jaston mumble louder.

Mel backed into the furthest corner of her cell.

Kirk looked at Emile.

“What are you doing?” he said.

Emile’s eyes darted all around as he licked his lips and danced from one foot to the other.

Whatever was going on, Emile was worried and
that
worried Kirk.

“Magic,” said Seydou, never taking his eyes off of Mel. “From Siete Puntas.”
 

Seydou nodded at Jaston.
 

Jaston’s quaking hands dropped the padlock and chain and he abruptly threw the cell door open, making Emile flinch. Jaston’s entire body was shaking, including his protruding paunch. As he moved into the cell, Kirk finally saw his face. Contorted, red, mouth hanging open and drooling. His eyes rolled this way and that and the mumbling got louder.

The man was delirious–drugged, drunk, it didn’t matter. He was barely in control.

“Leave her alone!” Kirk yelled, reaching through the bars to no avail.