Atlantis Gold

Chapter 33

Hunt could see that both Jayden and Maddy thought he was few sandwiches short of a picnic.

“The stress is finally getting to you, isn’t old buddy?” Jayden cast a nervous glance back at the rapidly approaching Cuban police boat.

But Hunt’s gaze was unwavering, his voice level. “No time to explain step by step, so first things first: It’s a fast powerful boat, but with only two officers on it. We need to take control of that boat, hopefully without seriously hurting anyone, including ourselves.”

Hunt allowed a precious second to tick by while his friends absorbed the verbal bombshell.

“You want us to hijack a Cuban police boat? I have to say, Carter, I know I said your idea of vacation was a little boring, but I take that all back now, okay? I take it back.”

“It’s our only chance, the way I see it,” Hunt said. “We could try to run into that jungle there, but they’d probably shoot us before we even got across the beach. Not to mention…then what? We’re on foot in the jungle with barely any gear, no food and water, hunted by the police?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a male voice through a loud-hailer speaking Spanish. Hunt recognized the word alto and manos, but that was more than enough to know what they wanted. But then, as if to remove all doubts, the message was repeated again, this time in perfect, although accented, English. “Attention: persons on aircraft, stop your vehicle and step out onto the pontoons with your hands up. Do it now!”

“Only two of us come out.” Hunt hissed. “Jayden — you and Maddy step out with your hands up. Maddy, we need a distraction. Take your shirt off. You two act like lovebirds just having fun in the middle of nowhere caught with your proverbial pants down.”

“Sounds good,” Jayden said, winking at Maddy, who rolled her eyes.

“You two are my distraction,” Hunt said, keeping things focused as the plane began to rock with the waves caused by the oncoming patrol vessel. “But as soon as I have control of the boat, I’ll need your help.”

The loud-hailer boomed again, and this time there was a warning shot fired into the air.

“Go!” Hunt said, staying low below the windows while Jayden emerged first with his hands up. Maddy already had her T-shirt off. She turned around, facing away from Hunt out of modesty before removing her bikini top. Then she stepped outside onto the same pontoon as Jayden, her hands also in the air.

The patrol boat slowed as it drew alongside the sea-plane, the driver allowing a distance of ten feet as a buffer, not knowing what to expect. The other man on board, a middle-aged Cuban in a police uniform but brandishing an automatic weapon, trained his firearm on Jayden and Maddy. Hunt watched from a concealed position in the back of the plane, peeking out from beneath the parachute. He saw the gunman smile upon seeing Maddy, and then turn back to say something along with a healthy dose of laughter to his associate in the driver’s seat.

Seeing that it wasn’t going to get much better than this, if at all, Hunt made his move. Coil of rope in hand, he crawled to the opposite door that Jayden and Maddy had exited from while hearing the police continue to bark through the loudspeaker about not moving and keeping their hands up while the boat was pulled into position alongside the plane, as Hunt was hoping.

No noise, no noise, he told himself as he took a deep breath and then slipped into the water head first without making so much as a ripple. He kept his eyes open despite the sting of the warm saltwater, because for this to work he would need to see, even if in blurred fashion. The former Navy man swam underneath the seaplane, deep enough not to break the surface between the two floats where the body was raised up from the water, but not so deep as to lose track of where he was.

He surfaced near the front of the floatplane, behind the prop. There, he looped one end of the rope around the starboard side support strut. Then, he very quietly stealth swam underneath the plane, between the pontoons. To the port side, which was where Jayden and Maddy stood on the pontoon, hence a risky place to be. He quickly wound the rope around that strut also, creating a crude harness, the same idea as a water-ski tow-rope. That done, he grabbed another deep breath and slipped once again below the water’s surface.

Hunt swam toward the boat, utilizing a smooth breast stroke that propelled him through the water with a minimal amount of exertion and disturbance of the surrounding water. He glanced down and saw the silvery sparkle of a school of fish, the ocean bottom not visible to his blurry vision without a mask.

When he saw the underside of the patrol boat, he angled his body so that he swam deeper, knowing that all attention would be focused on this side of the plane, where Jayden and Maddy stood on the pontoon at automatic gunpoint. He passed beneath the hull of the police boat, glancing up as he passed under it to ensure he had sufficient clearance. By the time he reached the other side of the boat, the need to breathe was strong. But still he swam, maneuvering for the stern end of the boat, where he had noticed a boarding ladder earlier.

Easy breaking the surface, he reminded himself, aware that even a small splash would bring unwanted attention. He slowed his pace as he ascended, reaching a hand out of the water first to steady himself against the side of the boat. He knew that most boats had stainless steel hooks in the back made for towing or lifting them out of the water, and as he eyeballed the stern from the water he was relieved to see that this was in fact one of them.

Hunt could hear that the conversation between the police and Jayden, who was doing most of the talking, was starting to move past the wow-factor of Maddy’s toplessness and into more serious business. He felt the plane rock a little and thought perhaps one of the policemen might have stepped on a pontoon to board it, but then heard Jayden say, “Okay, we’ll get onto the boat, just don’t shoot.”

Hunt threaded the end of his rope through first one hook, and then the other, hiding behind the back of the boat as he did so. Then he tied a knot to secure the rope in place that was now passed through two points on the stern of the boat and two points on the front of the seaplane.

Step 1 complete, Hunt thought. Now for the tricky part.

He held onto the boat as it began to rock. Jayden and Maddy were stepping on board. He knew he would have to be very, very careful, that should he draw the attention of the police boat crew before he was ready, it would likely cost him his life, and possibly that of his friends. Never mind the law and due process, either, Hunt reminded himself — out here, on a lonely stretch of Cuban coast, the law was these two men who likely had a high degree of discretion when it came to what they reported back to the precinct.

“We ran out of gas,” Jayden was saying in English. The word “visa” was used a few times by both law officers. Hunt eased smoothly along the back of the boat to the boarding ladder. He gripped the metal rungs and hung in place, listening to make sure both officers were talking, for if one was not, it could mean he was walking around the boat, and that would spell the end for Hunt if he came to the stern. But Jayden and Maddy together did a good job of keeping the talk going, of keeping both Cubans engaged in conversation, and so Hunt put his feet on the bottom rung of the ladder and hauled himself up a step, careful not to apply too much force and rock the boat as he did so.

“Miami,” Jayden was saying, “we came from Miami but got lost, off course, and then we ran out of gas. We’re sorry, it was an accident…”

Maddy also chimed in with corroborating words of her own, while Hunt crept up another step on the ladder. Only one more step to go, but that one would take him over the transom, making him easily visible to all on board. He had only one small trick up his sleeve to stack the deck in his favor just a little bit, and it was time to play that card.

Hunt extracted the emergency penlight he carried from the pocket of his boardshorts, wary of either making a noise while undoing the pocket catch or of dropping the item. Penlight in hand, he monitored the conversation, which was escalating in tension. Hunt figured his friends were perhaps thirty seconds to a minute from being taken into custody. Gripping the corner of the boat with one hand, he tossed the penlight up and over the stern of the boat, so that it landed in the water along the boat’s port side.

Doing this meant he had to hope they didn’t see where the throw originated, but this small bit of luck was on his side. Both Cubans spun and looked left upon hearing the small splash made by the flashlight hitting the water a few feet away. Jayden, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, seized on the opportunity and sprung into action.

He flung himself into both men, one arm around each of them, while Hunt hauled himself up over the transom and into the boat. The blast of the AK was followed closely by the pop of a pistol. Hunt saw fiberglass shards spray into the air as the rounds chewed up the boat’s deck and rails. Fortunately the officers had only been able to squeeze their triggers reflexively and had not been able to raise, much less actually aim, their weapons.

“Maddy, get in the plane!” Hunt didn’t look to her for an answer, but instead landed on the two water patrolmen alongside Jayden, stripping the AK from the squat, burlier man who looked as though he would be at home on the offensive line of the Miami Dolphins. Jayden, meanwhile, was able to snatch the pistol from the taller, thinner officer. Hunt and Jayden trained their newly acquired weapons on the marine patrol team. Both Spanish-speaking men immediately put their hands in the air without a word.

“What’s our plan, Carter?” Jayden side-mouthed to Hunt.

“Nobody gets hurt. We go our way, they go theirs.”

But the sound of additional engines approaching made that prospect suddenly seem much less likely.

Hunt looked to his left along the coast in time to see two more Cuban policia patrol boats speeding towards them. Jayden moved to the steering console but Hunt told him not to start the boat.

“Why the heck not?”

“Because we’ll just be in a boat chase, two against one. We’ll lose.”

“So what, you’re giving up?” The look on Jayden’s face was one of incomprehension, like he simply could not believe what he was hearing out of Hunt’s mouth. But Hunt shook his head.

“Not giving, up, I just think we should leave a different way. Jayden, get in the plane. Take the pilot’s seat. I need you to steer.”

“Wha — what?” Jayden stammered. “Carter, the plane’s out of gas, remember? Not even vapors left!”

“But the boat’s not. I tied a tow line from the boat to the plane. We’ll have our new friends here drive the boat at full throttle, and I think that’ll be enough to get us airborne in the plane.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” He eyed the rapidly approaching marine patrols and noticed that one of them had a mounted 50-caliber machine gun on its prow.

“But then what? Even if we get airborne, we’ve still got no gas!” Jayden eyed the boat’s fuel fill cap, on the top of the transom. “If we had all the time in the world, we could siphon some out of this boat and then transfer it to the plane, but…” He pointed to the incoming patrol boats, which were now within seconds of reaching them. “…we don’t.”

“That’s okay, the plane can go where the boats can’t go.” Hunted pointed to the jungle beyond the beach. “We can glide inland somewhere to escape the boats. We’ll still be on the run and they’ll see where we went and radio for help, but it’ll buy us some time.”

Jayden threw up the hand not holding the gun. “Better than what I’ve got, which is nothing. Let’s rock.”

“Get in the plane and keep the wheel steady once I get us underway. It’ll tend to drift — keep the nose pointed at the stern of the boat.”

“Nose to ass, got it.”

“You would.

“Go.”

“But wait — how will you—”

“Jayden, there’s not time to explain. Just go. I’ll handle it from here.”

With a scowl toward the Cuban polica, Jayden swapped guns with Hunt, giving him the AK and taking the pistol with him back to the plane.

Hunt waved the barrel of the automatic rifle toward the Cuban who had been driving the boat earlier, and then toward the steering console. He looked at the other officer and pointed to the seat opposite the driver’s, and that patrolman moved slowly to it and sat.

The boat’s engine was already on and idling, so Hunt waited for Jayden to jump out of the boat, swim to the plane, and climb into the pilot’s seat, which seemed to take forever. The incoming patrol boats were close enough for Hunt to see that one of them carried two officers, while the other carried three — with one on the mounted gun.

From his position in the rear of the patrol boat facing the front, Hunt shouted some Spanish words that meant ‘go’ to the boat driver, waving the gun muzzle at him when he turned around to look. The Cuban put the vessel into gear, slowly at first. The drag of the plane caused the boat to angle to one side, but then the driver compensated by adding more speed, and the floatplane’s swings became less pronounced until it was being towed in a straight line behind the boat.

Hunt hated to turn his gaze away from the boat driver and his associate who was no doubt watching Hunt like a hawk, but when the 50-cal gun from the leading patrol boat in their wake began to crackle as it spit out rounds, he forced himself to turn around for a two-second look. And that look was all he needed to know that his plan had a very slim chance of succeeding indeed.

“Mas rapido!” Hunt pointed to the throttle and shook his AK menacingly. The driver responded by jamming the throttle up to full speed, which sent Hunt reeling backwards into the transom, where he cracked his elbow on the fiberglass edge. His grip on the automatic weapon faltered, and the seated officer started to get up before Hunt reasserted his hold on the long gun while falling to the deck and pointed it at the man.

He shook his head at him while centering the barrel of the deadly firearm at his midsection. The officer sat back down, bouncing up and down as he did so, as the boat was now travelling fast, the throttle jammed all the way up while the boat driver braced himself against the steering wheel, sea spray buffeting the windshield.

Hunt saw the seated Cuban’s eyes grow wide as he looked past him, which prompted him to take a quick glance backwards as well. He had to push himself up to his feet, leaning against the transom in order to do so, but he managed it with a couple of more bumps and bruises along the way. When he looked back he saw the seaplane bouncing up and down, going airborne for a few seconds before skimming back along the wave tops. Meanwhile, as Hunt whipped his head back forward, he could see that the boat driver was showing no sign of letting up on the throttle, apparently deciding that a bumpy ride was preferable to getting shot with an automatic weapon. Or maybe he was hoping Hunt was going to either lose control of the AK or be seriously injured from bouncing around the boat. Either way, Hunt knew that he had only a few more seconds to put the final step of his plan into place…the most dangerous step.

Then he felt something dislodge from his pants and clatter to the deck. He spotted the pistol he’d found at the campsite. It landed halfway between him and the seated patrolman, who eyed the weapon longingly. Hunt shook his head at him while stepping forward and putting his right foot on the pistol. He slid it back to him and picked it up while holding the AK steady with one hand. Deciding it wasn’t worth possibly losing control of it again and giving his adversaries a weapon, Hunt tossed the pistol overboard, now depending exclusively on the automatic weapon, and the two pistols Jayden had in his possession.

He turned his focus back to the plan. He needed an important implement to be able to carry it out. He shouted at the Cuban not driving the boat. “Knife,” he said in English, not knowing the Spanish word, but making a pantomiming motion that hopefully explained it. He knew almost all boats would have some kind of knife in order to cut rigging in an emergency, or perhaps for a little fishing when not on active duty.

The Cuban looked perplexed but seemed to understand, as he nodded and pointed to the cubby space beneath the steering console. He tapped his own chest and pointed to it. Hunt nodded, giving permission to get up, but he kept his gun trained on the officer as he stepped quickly to the console. The driver looked at him in alarm, thinking a situation was developing, but Hunt moved along the side of the boat, bracing himself against the gunwale, letting him know that he was still very much in control.

The bullets ricocheting off the side of the boat told him that wouldn’t be the case for long, though. The officer not driving grabbed a rusty bait knife and nervously handed it off to Hunt butt first.

Hunt took it with a nod of thanks before waving him back to his seat with the gun muzzle. Then he wobbled back to his spot at the transom, staying low to avoid the gunfire from the two chasing patrol boats, now right behind the plane. He caught a glimpse of Jayden white-knuckling the stick, shouting something at Hunt that he could only take to mean, ‘Do something, we’re about to go airborne!” even though he couldn’t hear the words. The fact that the plane was still tethered to the boat was now treacherous, since it was bouncing higher and higher, its wings giving it the needed lift to go airborne, but then being jerked back down by the rope.

Hunt whipped his head around for one last check on the Cubans, then decided it was time. He eyeballed the seaplane’s pontoons, waiting for the next time they lifted off the water. When he saw the air gap form between the water and the pontoons, he leaned over and cut the starboard-side rope, quickly standing up and turning around in time to see the Cuban sitting back down. They would still rush him if they could.

With the rope cut, it slid free from both of the boat hooks on the transom. Immediately the seaplane rose higher in the air. Hunt told himself not to let go of the rope, or else he’d be left behind on board the boat without the plane. He tossed the AK overboard, unable to do what he was about to while carrying it, but also not wishing to leave it behind for the Cubans to use against him.

Hunt wound the cut end of the rope around his right wrist, knowing that the force he was about to endure would be significant. But he was not expecting what happened next. The seaplane suddenly caught an updraft and rose even higher in the air. Hunt stood up on the transom and jumped off, hoping to avoid the water and increased drag it would cause if at all possible. But the rope was long enough that he was dipped waist deep into the ocean before being lifted into the air. The plane dropped only slightly as a result, but Hunt gasped as he saw one of the patrol boats rocketing straight underneath the plane, occupying the water the plane had ridden on only seconds earlier.

He saw the mounted 50-cal spit fire as he raised his legs so that he was dangling by the rope straight down from the seaplane. He kicked the mounted gunner operator square in the head with both feet, sending the man reeling over the side of the boat. Hunt never got to see what happened to him, for the next thing he knew, he was lifted high above the fray by the seaplane, which was still on an upward trajectory. Hunt knew that this was good since they would need all the altitude they could get, without any fuel, to facilitate a long-distance glide. But that didn’t make him feel any better at the moment, being dragged into the sky by tons of ascending metal, dangling at the end of a rope while being shot at from no less than three vessels below.

Hunt looked up and saw Maddy’s horrified face looking down out the open door. Hunt knew that because of the way he had tied the rope to the plane — the only way he could while in the water, to the struts connecting the pontoon to the wing — that he wouldn’t be able to be pulled all the way into the plane, He’d have to pull himself up to the pontoon and then climb in. So he began to raise himself up hand over hand, flashing back to his military training days, doing the same thing on a base while a drill sergeant yelled at him. He almost managed a smile as he concentrated on the memories instead of the reality. When he next looked up he was about halfway to the pontoon.

Below him he saw that one of the patrol boats was pulling alongside the one towing the plane, no doubt telling the driver to stop, while the third boat — the one with the mounted gun — sped away in order to get some distance from the plane so that they could fire at it.

Hunt mentally urged Jayden to turn left, to make themselves a more difficult target from the water, but still they continued in a straight line, jitterbugging up and down. Jayden was not a pilot, Hunt reminded himself, so he was doing well all things considered.

Keep climbing, soldier. Again, Hunt focused on putting one hand in front of the other, fingers burning with the effort as he ascended the moving rope while being dragged through the air at an angle.

Finally he reached the strut the rope was tied to and gripped the solid metal. He swung a leg up and over the pontoon, straddling it like a rodeo bull. As soon as he looked down, he saw a spark of orange six inches in front of his face as a bullet ricocheted off the strut his rope was tied to. He gripped the strut and forced himself to his feet, still holding onto the rope in case he lost his balance and fell.

He felt Maddy’s hands on his shoulders and reached up to her, clutching the door frame. He hauled himself in and tumbled into the co-pilot’s seat on top of Maddy.

“Shut the door!” Hunt bellowed. Maddy pulled it closed and then Hunt yelled to Jayden.

“Remind me to get you a pair of those pilot wings they hand out to kids on the commercial airliners. You did good,” Hunt yelled.

“Flying’s for the birds, you know that?” Jayden said, sliding out of the pilot’s seat with a last adjustment to the control stick. He moved to the back seat and began firing a pistol from the window at the patrol boats, aiming for the engines, hoping to disable them without hurting anyone.

The first thing Hunt did was to glance at the altimeter: 500 feet. Not bad! Then he banked the plane left, toward the beach and the Cuban jungle beyond.