Authors: Joe Nobody
With the nearly black background of the water, his skin and clothing darkened, he prayed the lookout didn’t have night vision and wasn’t an overly observant fellow. As the seconds passed, the ranger waited for the beam of a flashlight to illuminate his trespass. He was pretty sure illumination would be quickly followed by gunfire if he was discovered, and there was no place to go, hide, or retreat.
No challenge or bullets came from above.
It seemed like it took forever to float the length of Vincent’s pleasure barge. After raising his head just long enough to sneak a quick glance, Zach observed that the stern of the huge vessel was finally approaching.
Just as he passed the rearmost part of the ship, Zach kicked hard for the dock, his flipper-equipped feet struggling to move the mass of his own body and the raft. If he was to have any chance of pulling this off, he couldn’t drift too far past
La Rosa
.
The glow of a cigarette caused the Texas to freeze, his head floating less than a yard away from a sentry’s feet. The Texan stopped breathing, making no more noise than a church mouse pissing on a rug.
Moving only his eyes, Zach spotted one of Vincent’s bodyguards standing on the yacht’s rear platform while enjoying a smoke. If the man had any night vision and peered down, the ranger would quickly find out how the fish felt while being shot in a barrel.
The guard flicked his butt into the river, the small cherry landing less than two inches from Zach’s nose. With his nicotine craving satisfied, the man pivoted and disappeared into
Rosa
’s water garage.
Zach reverted to kicking hard for the pier, his legs burning like fire from the effort. By the time he finally reached up and grabbed onto the concrete wall, he realized he’d floated far past the point where he’d hoped to make landfall.
The blueprint BB had found online told the ranger that the propellers were eight feet below the surface. According to the brokerage, they were massive blades, six feet in diameter, each powered by a 1500-horsepower diesel engine.
Using the pier to pull himself back against the current, Zach finally managed to recover from his overshooting the mark, and tied off the pool float to the concrete wall of the dock.
He next pulled his knife and began carefully cutting away the tape securing the cable.
With a firm grasp of one end, he let gravity uncoil the heavy, steel line as it fell to the bottom. If he let go of his end, or the cable snagged onto something, his swim would all be for naught.
He checked the back deck where the guard had been smoking, finding the fiberglass platform void of any patrols. Pulling down his goggles and taking a deep breath, Zach kicked hard for
La Rosa’s
stern.
Between the weight of the cable and fighting the current, the ranger thought he’d made a huge mistake. Despite pumping his legs as hard as possible, he wasn’t making any progress.
Visions of Gus and Buck surged into his mind, raising his rage and bolstering his determination. Zach channeled the anger to his aching legs and kicked with longer, harder strokes.
He finally reached the underside of the platform where he discovered a handhold and silently raised his head out of the water.
The fiberglass extension had been added to
Rosa’
s steel hull, the shipyards in Germany knowing that their wealthy clients wanted to swim, scuba, and have access to jets skis and launches. It was also a godsend for Zach, as he drew air into his lungs without worrying about being spotted from above.
With his oxygen replenished, the ranger pulled out his flashlight, refilled his lungs once more, and dove under the surface.
Again, the current fought his progress, the Texan trying to dive down while holding his position relevant to the hull above.
With the inky black waters limiting visibility to just a few feet, and knowing the massive vessel was above him, Zach began to feel a coffin-like sense of claustrophobia. Despite his flashlight, the world seemed to be pressing in on his body and mind, his brain demanding that he surface and draw air.
It took all of Zach’s will to keep going, fighting the waves of hysteria that crashed against his soul. Down he went into the black hole, ignoring the internal voices that he stop this foolishness. He felt like a truck was sitting on his chest, struggling to control his weak, unresponsive limbs.
Finally, the huge bronze blade of a propeller showed in the tiny circle of his flashlight. Then another, and, at last, the tire-sized, bullet-shaped nose of the hub.
The ranger didn’t waste a second, looping the cable in and out, weaving it between the blades. He had to kick hard to go deeper, but could let his natural buoyancy pull him up.
His lungs were burning by the time he’d finished the port propeller, but he didn’t think he could make the journey back down a second time … or ever again.
With a nearly super-human effort, the Texan kicked hard for the starboard propeller and again began entangling the cable within its massive blades.
Air had never tasted so good when he finally managed the surface. Zach didn’t care if the guards could hear his breathing.
After drinking precious oxygen into his lungs, the ranger felt a sense of euphoria fill his core. He’d done it! He’d disabled Vincent’s primary escape route, crippled a multi-million dollar yacht with $40 worth of cable and a couple of pool toys.
The joy was short-lived, however. He still had to get out of the river and find BB. If he missed the exit point, he could easily be washed out to sea.
Wouldn’t that suck
, he thought, watching the shoreline pass.
Here I pull off a stunt worthy of a Navy SEAL, and then I drown because I couldn’t get back to land.
The thought, along with the fact that he seemed to be moving faster and away from shore, caused Zach to start swimming overhand, his hands making gentle splashing noises as the ranger started to gain against the river’s flow.
He finally managed the pier, grasping onto to a wooden pillar and catching his breath.
Relieved, fatigued to a point beyond where his body had ever been, Zach spied a ladder extending down into the river from above. It would save him having to pull his soaked frame up the vertical wall.
Zach was on the third rung when the gun barrel pressed into his forehead. “Hola, amigo. Out for a swim this evening?” a low voice from the pier growled.
The ranger’s exhausted mind wanted desperately to recall his Spanish, but it just wouldn’t come. Somehow, he realized that the first word of English out of his mouth would ruin any reasonable excuse he could conjure. “Hola, Señor. I fell in.”
Loud laughter filled the otherwise quiet evening as the pistol’s hammer cocked. “And you just happen to have painted your face before falling into the river, Señor.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“I got a little drunk and fell overboard. That’s not face paint; it’s mud from the river.”
“I don’t believe you. You are lying to me, and so I am going to kill you.”
Zach clenched, waiting for the hammer to drop, wondering how far his body would drift before being discovered – if ever.
A string of angry Spanish came from behind the gunman, Zach picking out enough words to know the man about to blow his head off was being called stupid. “The jefe will want him alive. El General will demand to know what he was doing in the river.”
Yeah!
Zach’s mind raced.
Don’t shoot me just yet. Let Vincent torture my ass for a while before you spread my brains all over Central Mexico.
The conversation continued on the pier, Zach using the delay to plot his next move.
Finally, the gunman stepped back, waving his pistol and ordering the ranger to continue his ascent up the ladder.
There were two of them, burley gents for certain.
That figures
, Zach thought, calculating his chances of overpowering the two thugs.
Not many employment opportunities for wimpy dudes in the cartel security game.
One had what appeared to be an MP5 sub machinegun. The other was holding a Glock pistol that had been pressed against the ranger’s forehead until a moment before.
When Zach finally stepped onto the pier, the beam of a flashlight hit him in the eyes. “Ahh! A tall gringo. What are you doing in our river?”
“I told you. My family and I are down here on vacation. We rented a boat upstream, and I fell overboard.”
The interrogator stepped closer, tilting his head as he stared at the dark goo covering Zach’s face and arms, then shining the light up and down the ranger’s frame.
“You fell overboard with flippers on, Señor? I think this is bullshit.”
Damn it
, Zach thought.
I should have kicked these fuckers off in the river.
Another conversation in Spanish ensued, the two lookouts obviously disagreeing about what to do next. Zach squinted, trying to regain his night vision after the assault from the flashlight while translating the string of obscenities flying between his two new friends. The ranger spotted a shadow rising behind the two gunmen. A hand appeared over the pistol holder’s mouth as his back arched forward. BB had arrived.
Still half-blind, Zach threw himself at the other man, reaching for anything he could get. He managed the fellow’s shoulders and jerked his head forward with as much force as the Texan could muster.
The ranger’s forehead smashed into the man’s nose with a crushing blow, muffling his half-breath scream. Zach coiled for another strike but stopped when BB’s knife was buried to the hilt in the gunman’s throat. Only the sound of a wet gurgle escaped.
Two splashes sounded a moment later, both of the cartel goons “sleeping with the fishes.” BB hefted the MP5, whispering, “I don’t have one of these in my gun safe. Nice.”
Zach, still breathing hard, simply muttered, “Thanks.”
The sun was rising just as the two lawmen made it back to the pickup. “I need a shower. A hot one. A cup of coffee, and about three fingers of quality bourbon,” Zach stated as they drove off.
“I take it you managed to find the ship’s propellers?” BB teased.
“Yes, and God help me if I ever have to do something like that again. Once was plenty for this land lover. That sucked.”
They drove to a cheap hotel, BB paying in pesos and answering all of the clerk’s questions in passable Spanish. “I’m going to go find us some coffee and bourbon. Don’t use all the hot water. I’ll be back in 30 minutes.”
“You can skip the whiskey,” Zach countered. “Now that my nerves are crawling back inside my skin, I’ll settle for some breakfast.”
“Done.”
Zach couldn’t remember hot water ever feeling so good. Despite the dingy room, nasty bathtub, and the cheapest soap he’d ever seen, the ranger scrubbed and washed every inch of his body and hair at least three times.
He was just buttoning his shirt when BB returned, steaming cups of coffee and a bag of sugary, Mexican donuts in his hands.
Zach relaxed with the java and breakfast while BB took his turn purging two days of travel and work off his carcass. When the seasoned ranger finally reappeared, Zach suggested, “Let’s go visit your friend at police headquarters before someone notices two missing guards.”
They drove to the city management complex. BB was surprised how much security was in place until Zach reminded him of the fact that Mexico was in the middle of a civil war. “I guess that makes sense,” BB admitted.
Twenty minutes later, they were shown into the chief’s office, the Mexican cop acting like BB was his best friend who’d just returned from the dead.
Zach, too, received a warm, friendly greeting after BB introduced his traveling companion as a Texas Ranger.
“I’m working with Ranger Bass in much the same capacity that I worked with you,” BB explained. “He hired me to help him track down a suspect, and we’ve found our man right here in Tampico.”
Evidently, BB’s old buddy thought the ranger was in for a bit of “la mordida,” or “the pinch,” as bribes and graft were commonly called. With Texas dollar signs in his smiling eyes, the chief said, “How can I help you apprehend this desperado?”
“Oh, no, no, my friend,” BB smiled back. “We’re here as a professional courtesy. You see, Ranger Bass has called in a team of Special Forces from the Texas military. They should be arriving before noon, and I wanted to warn you that they would be operating nearby.”
“Tejas military? Here? In Tampico?” questioned the now-troubled cop. “This is allowed by my government?”
“Yes, we have approval from Mexico City,” Zach lied. “You’re welcome to call your superiors and verify this.”
The chief was suddenly unhappy, but also appeared not to know exactly what to do about it. Finally, the frustrated man decided to call the mayor. While he was dialing, Zach and BB were heading for the door. “Thank you,” both of them mumbled as they reached the exit. “See you soon.”
“Let’s get the hell out of Dodge before he has us arrested,” BB said, hurrying down the hall.
“Right behind you, partner. I’ll bet you a good steak dinner that he’s really calling Vincent.”