He stopped the cart, and hopped out, then began dribbling the ball with his feet. After a few bumps off his knees, chest and head, he booted the ball toward them, emulating a Spiker shooting a goal. "There you go," he said.
The boys were surprised to see him perform. "Wow, you're good Captain Kent," a boy shouted. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
Fodbald, as they referred to it in Denmark, was a sport he seldom played, but learned basic dribbling techniques to impress the girls. It was something he enjoyed doing for kids visiting the marina. "Just something I picked up over the years," he answered. "Keep practicing and you'll be better than me."
Back in his cart, his cell phone rang. "Yeah," he answered. After a hesitation he said, "Count on about five leaving tonight."
Moments later, Captain Kent parked the cart near the front door of his office. He marched around the vacant reception desk to the door of his office. Six women with the energy of college students, and dauntless in their revealing bikini tops, danced with vulgar intentions to Bob Marley. He slapped his chest and said, "So this is what Heaven's like. How'd you get in here?"
"There you are," Becky said, then wrapped her arms around him, as the others sipped on their umbrella drinks. "The door was unlocked so we thought we'd surprise you."
Becky Bridle's husband had been City Manager for seven years when he was indicted for embezzling city funds. It was certain he'd spend time in prison and have to pay the city back. His attorney assured them, if they divorced before he went to trial, she would be awarded the money, and he wouldn't have to pay anything back due to being insolvent. They took the attorney's advice, and she received every penny. He was later convicted and spent ten-years in a minimum security prison, which resembled more of a country club.
Being a middle-aged single and attractive woman, worth millions, she decided to listen to her friends' advice. "Why settle for one fish, when there's plenty in the sea," they had told her.
Months before his release, she absconded with all the money, leaving him the oceanfront villa she had paid off.
"We thought you'd never get here," Lisa said, then nudged Becky and whispered, "You weren't kidding, he's a doll."
"Sorry I'm late, but from the looks of things, I'm glad I was. It smells like raging estrogen in here. Any later, I would have caught you in the act."
The women laughed, then Veronica said, "Yeah, we're dripping with happiness. Besides, we've known each other since college. It wouldn't be the first time."
Veronica was the witty naughty girl of the bunch, who kept things interesting. "So tell us Captain. Do you prefer vertical or horizontal salutes?" she added.
The women snickered. "Don't mind Veronica, she has a tendency to misconstrue just about everything," Becky said. "Anyway, these are my friends, Sharon, Melissa, Lisa, and Mary. And of course, you've already met Veronica."
"Every man knows Veronica," Mary said, under her breath.
"Here, we mixed you up a drink," Sharon said, handing him a tall garnished glass.
"Thanks, it's really getting hot in here," he said.
"You think it's hot now? Wait until tonight," Veronica said, with an insinuating wink.
"Where's my boat?" Becky asked. "We're ready to party."
He reached in a drawer behind his desk and pulled out an envelope. "Here you go," he said. "And here's your keys, congratulations."
"I've been waiting for this for a long time," Becky said.
Veronica fed him her cherry from her drink, then whispered in his ear, "This won't be the last cherry you get tonight."
When they separated, the women mobbed him. Arms and legs clung to him, as lips covered his face. "Oh my, God," he said, out of breath. "If were to die right now, I'd die the happiest guy on earth. I'm coming with you guys."
"Already?" Veronica said. "I thought the five-second rule only applied to ex-husbands."
Becky reached out and grabbed Veronica's drink. "No more for you young lady."
"I'm just getting warmed up," she responded.
"You've simply been fantastic, Captain Kent. I don't know how I could ever repay you."
"I think you already are," he said.
"Buying a boat and cruising the Caribbean was the perfect decision, Becky," Lisa said, shimmying Sharon's leg, while Bob Marley sang, Bend Down Low.
"You couldn't have picked a better way to spend your ex-husbands' money," Lisa added, then held up her glass and toasted, "Here's to ex-husbands."
Then Veronica, added, "Here's to ripping out their genitals through their wallets."
They all joined in, laughing and emptying their drinks.
Veronica snuggled up to him. "You're coming over tonight for a bon voyage drink, right Captain?" she whispered, rubbing his chest.
"What? And get my genitals ripped out? Doesn't sound like a very pleasant time."
"I promise, we'll be gentle... at first," she replied.
"Yeah, it'll be fun, come on," Melissa said.
He thought about his appointment meeting Kimberly, but that would be earlier. "Sure, but how about a little later tonight," he suggested.
"That's fine, but don't be too late." Lisa said, with a flirtatious grin.
"I thought you said, it's better to be late than early?" he said, with a wink.
"I like that, a man who pays attention to details," Sharon said.
"All right you guys, leave the man alone. Let's get out of here, and get the blender set up," Becky suggested.
Veronica stood with her back to him, and gyrated against his torso. "I'm feeling a salute. Better save it for later, Captain."
"We better leave," Becky said, reaching up and giving him another kiss, before grabbing Veronica and pulling her to the door.
The women giggled, ready to open the door. It flung open, standing in the doorway were two handsome men. "Oh my God," the women said in harmony, scanning them from head to toe. "Bring them too. This night is getting more interesting by the moment," then the door closed.
"You heard them, boys. Don't make plans. Look's like we got a party to go to later." He scribbled information on a piece of paper, and handed it to them. "See you at nine, and don't forget the party favors," he added.
When the men had left his office, Captain Kent punched in a number from his cell phone. "Four more leaving tonight," he said.
###
The morning had begun with happy anticipation of viewing mysterious Mayan Ruins deep within the rainforest of the Yucatan Peninsula. A van would take the tourists as far as it could go, until they would be separated into smaller groups and driven in Jeeps and authentic military transport trucks over rough terrain into the forest. Hours later, they had made an unexpected stop.
Terror was defining itself behind each closed door of the rooms, each the size of a large master bedroom. The last door at the end of the aisle, a mixed odor of rubbing alcohol, formaldehyde and mildew permeated the dreary room. A blood stained mattress lay on the floor in front of a gurney, where a man with his chest cavity pried open, was having his organs extracted and placed in zip-lock baggies, then stored in an ice chest. Three guards with surgical masks played cards on the other side of the room, ignoring the little boy sleeping on the mattress.
In an adjacent room, men with pants hugging their ankles mounted female captives. Hypodermic needles, rubber tubings, and bent spoons lay on the floor between mattresses. Lifeless faces of numbed girls stared at the ceiling, while receiving a taste of their future from the drooling thugs.
In another room, Ramona and two other women, Pilar and Filomena, put the finishing touches on drugged girls. Once their cuts and bruises were concealed with make-up, they were dressed in yard sale evening gowns and heels. "They're ready for them," a guard said.
"No, I won't go," a girl sobbed.
"Please child, do or as you're told, or they will kill you," Ramona said.
Ramona was a pint-sized rotund lady whose face could easily be mistaken for a mold used for Cabbage Patch dolls. Her personality matche
d her colorful baggy jeans, t-shirts and sneakers. They had become her signature outfit while working under the blazing sun of the orchards. Her comedic demeanor and clown like appearance made it tolerable for others while laboring alongside her.
Ramona and her husband looked like high school sweethearts, hand-in-hand, strolling through the winding dirt streets of the village on the way to the orchards on the morning of their anniversary. It was difficult for her to ignore the streamers lined overhead, and the boxes of fireworks and balloons near the picnic tables. It was a dead giveaway. Cinco de Mayo had passed days earlier, and it was too early to begin decorating for the next birthday at the end of June. This is one time she'd keep her lips sealed and not ruin her surprise twentieth wedding anniversary. In fact, she would make it easier and sneak off to the perimeter of the orchard along the highway where no one liked to work. This would give her husband and friends plenty of time to scurry back and forth from the nearby village to put the final touches on her party.
Picking lemons near the roadside was an undesirable chore by everyone. Not only did you have to put up with thieves, but had to listen to obscenities yelled from car windows speeding by on the main highway. But today, Ramona didn't care. It was a special day. It was her day. Nothing was going to get in the way of her happiness. She had the best friends anyone could ask for, and the most loving and caring husband that all the women envied.
She spent the day alone, picking and packing lemons into crates left there from others on previous days. It was a truly blessed day for her. In spite of the monotonous work, she wouldn't trade her life for anyone's.
As the sun dipped behind the hills casting the day's last shadow, Ramona began organizing the crates for the flatbed truck that would soon be driving through the orchards. The day had slipped by without incident, until the sound of a truck idling down the highway caught her attention. Two men in the cab seemed to be surveying the orchards. 'Poachers,' she thought, then gathered several lemons as a gift to them. Nothing was going to ruin this beautiful day.
The truck slowed to a stop. Two men in army fatigues approached her. "Good day gentlemen," she greeted with a smile. "I have a small gift for you," then tossed each a ripe lemon.
"Working alone today, are you?" one of the men asked.
"Si, but the day is over, and I've got a fiesta to go to. Just waiting for the truck," she answered. "But if you hurry, you can have your pick of any crate to take with you. Just don't tell anyone where you got it from," she snickered, then glanced around sheepishly through the trees. "It's a special day, and I want everyone to share in my happiness today."
"You're too kind, señorita," one of the men said, then tossed the lemon back to her. "Unfortunately for you, it's not the lemons we're after."
The instant she stretched for the lemon, a large man grabbed her and set her in the truck. The morning of her twentieth wedding anniversary would be the last she'd see her husband, and the first day she'd meet a man named, Chavez.
Two sedans with tinted windows turned off the highway onto the muddied road. Bumper to bumper, they idled through the drapery of mangroves to the rear of the abandoned warehouses. As if routine, they parked in unison alongside the military transport truck backed against the loading dock where guards stood at attention like chauffeurs, waiting to open their doors. Two men from each car, designated agents for various rings around the world, stepped out and were escorted into the warehouse. Hair slicked in oil and donning a professional military officer's shirt, Chavez greeted them with expensive Cuban cigars and Cognac.
The girls were paraded to the yellow line in front of the table where the buyers were seated. "Just stand here, no one will harm you," Pilar told a girl, then crossed her chest and glanced toward the ceiling.
One of the girls stumbled in her heels before reaching the line. "Get her up!" Chavez ordered.
Filomena assisted the girl to her feet, then guided her to the line. "Turn around," Chavez demanded, the girls.
Pilar and Filomena were to fruit packing in Limones, what generations of family members were to a university. But expectations of these paternal twins ran high amongst the close knit village of Limones. Pilar, considered the prettier of the two, had dreams of becoming a famous movie star. When she turned twelve, she began experimenting with makeup she stole from the older women's handbags at the packing plant. Pilar loved to mix colors, inventing her own shades. She could give her only doll, a hundred different looks. Her mother used to wonder where she got all those dolls from. When her sister began refusing to be her guinea pig, nearby ladies in the village and at the plant, allowed Pilar to practice on them. In return for her services, they'd gift her cheap makeup to practice with. She never ran low on supply, again.
Filomena's dreams centered on helping people. When their mother died shortly after their tenth birthday, Filomena began adopting motherly traits. Anyone in the village who became ill, Filomena was there to provide soup with medicinal herbs her mother had taught her about. She learned how to fix dislocated joints on boys who occasionally fell from trees, or tripped running from girls. She became the village expert in mending cuts and bruises, and bandaging wounds. She even put her self-taught seamstress talents to work by stitching up gashes on people, earning the nickname of, Doc, by others.
After their mother's death, Pilar and Filomena were pulled from school by their father, and made to work alongside him in the packaging plant. This was a welcomed surprise for Pilar, but Filomena felt her dream of being a nurse slip away. She knew how important a formal education was if she were to fulfill her dreams as a nurse. But that didn't stop her, there were plenty of children willing to give her their school books. She spent every spare moment at the plant absorbed in reading and learning English.
Soon after turning seventeen, Filomena's ambition was boiling, it was time for her to move to the city and begin her education. Her mind was set on a small vocational nursing school, a two day trip by bus. But just days before leaving, Pilar informed her of a man she met in the city who was searching for a nurse. "He has an international business with many employees, and he needs someone to teach them English and take care of them when they become ill," she said. "You'll be doing both things you like the most."
Filomena's attention peaked and prompted her to accompany her sister into town to meet this prosperous man in need. It was the last time they'd be seen again.
One of the bidders lowered his sunglasses. "Stop. I'll give you ten-thousand for that one," he offered, pointing to the girl in the middle.
The other bidder inspected the girl's backside. "I'll give you sixteen-thousand," he countered.
"You can have her," replied the first bidder.
A guard led the sold girl behind the successful bidder, holding her at gunpoint.
After the last of the three girls were sold, the mustached guard collected the money, then with the assistance of other guards, lead girls to the cars. One of the girls broke away and dashed toward the orchard across the road. When a gunshot rang out, striking the ground beside her, she screamed and stopped. A guard gripped her arm to pull her back, but her nails dug into his face. She resumed running, tripping and falling. "Stop her!" Chavez demanded.
"Should we finish her?" a guard asked her new owner.
"No, bring her to me alive. I'll teach her a lesson later."
Chapter Nine
Hours skated by, and Sam and Maddie were becoming restless. The only sounds they heard were rain pounding topside, and the movement of the boat rocking from side to side from swells passing under them.
They had turned the room upside down searching for something heavy or sharp, anything they could use for a weapon. Under the cushions of the bed were storage compartments where Sam found sailing magazines, loose rope, books, and spare linens. Maddie rooted through the bathroom, finding Emily's jasmine scented shampoo, hair conditioner, a can of hairspray, and a bottle of liquid soap. Before giving up, she took a second look, then grabbed the hairspray. "I have an idea."
"Style their hair to death?"
"Something like that." Maddie reached in her pocket and pulled out a lighter.
"Where'd you get that?"
"I picked it up from the sofa the other night when we found the kids alone with Andrea."
"So, your plan is to light them on fire on a flammable boat in the middle of the ocean? Sounds extreme."
"You have a better idea?"
He thought for a moment. "If we can make it to the radio, we can contact the Coast Guard, or Captain Kent, or anyone for that matter. I'm sure we're not the only ones out here."
"I thought about that too, but what about the door? How do we get it open without making a lot of noise? It weighs a ton," She had hoped for a different plan.
"Maybe we don't go through the door," he said, then paused. "Maybe we go over it."
That was something she hadn't thought of. She peered at the roof hatch, and noticed the clew of the jib sail blowing in the wind. "It might be just large enough for one of us to get through," she said. "What do we do once we get out there?"
"Isn't there another hatch over the cabin?" he asked.
"I don't know, I never thought of looking."
"This is a forty-foot boat, I'm sure there is, and it's probably just on the other side of the mast." Sam didn't sound certain, but it was better than the risk of torching the boat on fire.
"You know," she said, "that's gonna leave us exposed. What if they see us?"
He had thought about that, but more important was being out on top of the boat without a life vest. "That's just a chance we'll have to take. It's better than lighting the boat on fire."
She knew he was right. "We'll save this idea for a backup." Then she tossed the can and lighter on the bed.
They stood on the bed, inspecting the roof hatch. "It's gonna take some tools, and we don't have any," she observed.
Sam hopped off the bed and tugged on the empty bookshelf. "It won't budge. Give me a hand."