JUNGLE FEVER, page 24
Adedowale lifted the loaded crossbow and the quiver of arrows from the bed with care and placed them on the couch. “Mustn’t damage Mr. Merrick’s wonderful gift,” he said, grinning. Unbuttoning his silk shirt, he faced the girls who stood steadfastly in the room. “I see fear in your eyes, little ladies, but this fear is unjustified. You do not need to worry. If you allow yourselves the pleasure of our company, this experience can be enjoyable for all of us. Please, make yourselves a drink.”
Christina and Katya stood rooted in defiance of Adedowale’s request.
“So be it.”
Abeo, his AK-47 slung over his shoulder, moved from the balcony into the room, stopping to scrutinize Christina’s lean body. As he removed his shoes and shirt, she looked away in disgust.
“Should you choose to resist our charms…” Adedowale ’s voice trailed off as he shot a lascivious smile at his associate.
Abeo tore his eyes from Christina’s alluring body and picked up the machete. He moved toward the women with lust-filled eyes, but Adedowale restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. “In good time my friend, in good time.” He eased the machete from Abeo’s hand and, after brandishing it at the women, finished his vodka martini while perusing their trim bodies. Christina knew that his ostensibly pleasant attitude had given way to his desires. He unfastened the last button and threw the Armani shirt aside to reveal long scars down his heavy-set torso.
Katya and Christina froze at the sight of the old scars running from shoulders to midriff. The long, hastily-stitched wounds could only have been inflicted by a sword—or machete.
“The machete is a fascinating weapon,” Adedowale explained, not taking his eyes off the women’s horrified gaze. “It can be a blunt instrument, as you see before you, or it can be pointed or hooked, depending on its many uses. The possibilities are many.”
Katya buried her head on Christina’s shoulder. Adedowale’s towering frame and penetrating eyes sent chills down Christina’s spine.
“Do not be afraid, little ones. The choice is yours.”
On cue, Abeo strolled across the room and jerked Katya away from Christina. With his AK-47 aimed at Christina’s head, he dragged her toward the balcony, leaving Katya alone before Adedowale wielding his machete.
“Bastards!” Christina spat, struggling to free herself from the Nigerian’s grip. Abeo lifted the rifle and cold-cocked Christina across the temple. She fell hard to the floor, her vision blurred.
Adedowale laughed. “A feisty woman. This I like. I prefer the ones that protest—heightens the anticipation, don’t you think?” Christina struggled to stand, but with pain coursing through her skull, she could only manage to avoid the assistant’s second swing. “Enough,” Adedowale ordered. “I want them without bruising—for now.”
Abeo sneered at Christina crawling on her hands and knees on the carpet and kicked her in the ribs. She moaned and crumpled to the floor, clasping her side. From the pain she felt every time she took a breath, she suspected that he had cracked a rib. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the loaded crossbow yards away on the couch. She could see Abeo hovering above her, watching her every move, and realized that she might never be this close to a weapon again. Running on adrenaline and instinct, she decided to go for the crossbow. The weapon was their last chance. The pain dulling her senses would slow her reaction time, but she had an idea that might give her a few precious seconds, an idea that depended on Katya.
“Katya,” Christina reached toward her, flinching at the pain. “Just do it.”
Katya stared at Christina in disbelief, horrified at what she was saying.
Christina edged closer to the crossbow. “It’ll be okay. Show them what you’re proud of.”
Katya hesitated. Why was Christina encouraging her to let these animals ravage her? After they finished with her, they would turn their attention to Christina. It didn’t make sense.
“Please, Katya,” Christina pleaded.
Adedowale grinned, his pristine white teeth belying his darker self. He closed in on Katya. “Listen, little lady. Listen to your friend. She makes sense. I do not want to hurt you, but if I have to, I will.”
Although her instincts told her otherwise, Katya trusted Christina. Slowly she lifted her tank top to reveal her naked breasts. She raised her arms higher and maneuvered the spandex top over her head. Standing before her, Adedowale’s loins burned with desire for Katya’s tanned athletic body and flowing blonde hair. He grabbed her arm. She pulled back, but his natural strength was too much for her.
Distracted by Katya’s writhing semi-naked body, Abeo’s thoughts turned to what he would do with her after Adedowale finished.
It’s now or never. With her strength ebbing, Christina lunged for the crossbow and fired. Abeo spotted the movement, but too late. His eyes rolled back with the arrow’s end protruding from his forehead and the tip from the back of his head. He stumbled, then fell, face first, to the floor, driving the arrow further through his skull. Adedowale spun to see Abeo’s body jerking on the carpet. Enraged, he glared at Christina as she fumbled to reload the crossbow.
The door burst inward, slamming against the wall with the sharp crack of splintering wood. Marcus Enheim, with Napoleon strapped to his chest, stood in the doorway, his incensed gaze on the man brandishing a machete over his semi-naked wife. As Napoleon growled at Adedowale, Lincoln and Gray stormed into the room. Adedowale dropped the machete. Enheim leaned back and, with all the force and wrath he could muster, gave Adedowale the greatest head-butt in human history. Lincoln winced as a bone-crunching crack filled the room. The Nigerian crashed backward, clutching his broken nose and fractured forehead. As he staggered, unable to comprehend these unexpected developments, Enheim powered him across the room and charged on toward the balcony like a bull. The thought of this asshole violating his wife sent Enheim into a fury that Lincoln would never have imagined possible. With hate-filled eyes, Enheim lifted Adedowale above the railing and dropped him over the edge.
Adedowale screamed, arms flaying, as he tumbled down the hotel’s façade. He crashed through the glass atrium ceiling before plummeting into the foyer and landing with a sickening crack on the polished marble.
Katya ran to Enheim who embraced her like a long-lost love. She clung to him, sobbing, and buried her head in his shoulder. Enheim stroked Katya’s soft hair. “Nothing breaks up my family,” he whispered. “Nothing.” He reached on the floor for Katya’s tank top. As soon as she slipped it on, he enfolded her in another bear hug. “The Enheim way wins every time.”
Lincoln knelt by the couch where Christina had collapsed. He lifted the crossbow from beside her and placed it on the floor. Brushing her hair from her face, he murmured, “You okay?”
“Nothing—a good painkiller—won’t fix.” She tried to stand, but the agony from the cold cock and the kick in the ribs was too much. Lincoln raised Christina to her feet and eased her arm around his broad shoulders.
Crushed between Enheim and Katya, Napoleon whimpered. Katya smiled through her tears and gently lifted him from the harness. The little dog licked her face, releasing the stress of the ordeal she had faced and causing her to sob like a child. Enheim’s smile as he wiped away her tears brought her back to reality. She turned to Christina and Lincoln. “Thank you, darlinks.”
Shots rang out across the hotel’s grounds, reminding them of the battle below.
“Sorry to interrupt this reunion, guys,” Lincoln said, “but we have to go.”
“Where?” Katya asked, sniffling away the tears.
CHAPTER 48
Surrounded by jungle, the lagoon opened to an inlet that flowed to the ocean a mere two miles north of their location. The Tapochau Royal, a one-hundred-fifty-foot supply ship out of Saipan, lay at anchor at the base of the cliff inside the lagoon beside a rotted jetty. Her rusted hull and peeling paintwork were reminders of her age and the unforgiving waters of the Pacific Ocean.
Standing on the bridge wing, Captain Sayoc knew his ship’s limits all too well as he lowered his binoculars. Lesser captains would have failed were he exceled. His ship and his crew had survived wild weather and dangerous waters that even the most hardened seafaring adventurer would fear, but his contract with Tom Merrick had brought new dangers to his and his crew’s lives. Stories of local islanders disappearing without a trace and rumors of giant ungodly creatures running amuck throughout the outer islands had kept his superstitious crew on edge. However, he was a man who was prepared, always prepared; working for Tom Merrick he had to be. Now, to add to the list of perils, a gun battle raged high above, out of sight.
He kept his concerned gaze on the cliff top as shots echoed across the sky from the hotel grounds, then turned his attention to the bedraggled group on the loading dock. He wiped his sweaty hand on the stained undershirt that stretched over his bulging belly, then nervously rubbed his unshaven jaw.
With an M4 from the arena slung behind his back, Roland was the last of the crew to step from the loading elevator to join Mich, Rousseau, and Becca on the loading dock. The roar of the waterfall emptying beside them from the river above filled their ears as a cloud of spray hovered over the lagoon.
“What happens now?” Becca shouted over the thundering falls.
“Now we get off this jetty,” Mich replied, starting toward the ship.
Sayoc looked Mich up and down with curiosity and a coy smile. “Stay where you are,” he warned. “Do not come closer to my ship.”
Mich stopped, but he continued to smile at the unkempt man studying them from the bridge. “You speak English, and you’re the captain—great. I’m Mich Lee, and this is Becca, Roland, and Rousseau.” Becca smiled while Roland and Rosseau gave him a wave. Not wanting to concern the captain, Rousseau gently maneuvered his M4 behind his back. Becca caught a glimpse of Rousseau’s subtle move and slipped her pistol between her skirt and the small of her back.
“I am Captain Sayoc,” he said, his tone curt. “What’s going on up there?”
“Payback.”
Sayoc raised an eyebrow.
“The local islanders have taken control of Merrick’s hotel,” Mich explained.
Stunned by the news, Sayoc bit his lower lip and contemplated his next move. “What do you want?”
“Captain Sayoc, we crash landed on the far side of the island and have been looking for a way back to Saipan.”
“So?”
“It would be much appreciated if we could journey with you back to Saipan.” Mich lifted his arms in a show of compliance.
Sayoc spotted the sidearm tucked into Mich’s belt and snatched his own pistol from his oversized pants. He rested the gun on the railing, its barrel leveled at the group. “Stay where you are!”
“Please,” Mich said, seeing the captain’s nervous reaction to his gun. “We mean you and your men no harm. This weapon is only for protection. This island is a dangerous place. You must understand that.”
“Back away from my ship.”
Roland could see this was going nowhere. He tried a different tact, a language all businessmen understood. “We have money, you know.”
“How much?”
Mich turned to the group and whispered, “I’ve got nothing. How much do we have?”
Becca held up her empty hands and shrugged. Rousseau swallowed hard and gave everyone a sheepish grin after retrieving just three United States dollar bills from his pocket. From his water-logged wallet, Roland pulled two hundred United States dollars, the official currency of the Marianas.
Mich groaned and reluctantly faced Captain Sayoc. “We don’t have much on us now, but if you can get us back to Saipan, we can give you more.”
“How much do you have now?”
“A little over two hundred US dollars—but we can get more.”
“You are wasting my time.”
“Please, Captain, we need your help,” Mich said, taking a tentative step forward.
Sayoc lifted his pistol and waved it at Mich.
Rousseau turned to Becca and blushing, indicated to her breasts. “Rebecca, they are men. Men are easily distracted, you understand?” When it dawned on her what the big Frenchmen was implying, she gave a subtle nod. She unbuttoned the top of her tight blouse, hoping the sight of tanned cleavage would help sway the captain and his men. They were sailors, after all, men who spent long days at sea and, like all men, could be influenced by a tantalizing taste of heaving breasts.
Becca strutted her way to Mich’s side, presenting what nature had given her for the captain to ogle.
“It won’t work,” Roland murmured to Mich.
“Why not?”
“Captain Sayoc is gay.”
“How can you possibly tell from here?” he said to Roland with a disbelieving look.
“A gay man can tell.”
“Aw, come on. I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true.”
“Okay, how? How can you tell he’s gay?”
“Simple, you know. Didn’t you see the vay he looked at you earlier? His eyes vere devouring your form.”
Mich thought back to the captain’s unusual expression when he first approached the ship. His jaw dropped. “I’ll be damned. You’re right.”
“A gay man senses these things.” Roland shrugged with a knowing grin.
Swaying her hips and pouting, Becca did her best to get the captain’s attention, but to no avail. “It’s not working,” she said, as her efforts were met with a face of stone.
“We know,” Mich and Roland chimed together.
Becca’s journalistic instincts took over, and she came up with a new plan. She edged toward the ship and saw the captain clearly in all his glory for the first time. “What a slob,” Becca murmured, disgusted by Sayoc’s triple chin, greasy complexion, and sweat-stained undershirt. Forcing a smile, she said, “My name is Rebecca Perry. I’m a reporter for KSPN news out of Saipan. I can write a favorable story about how the brave captain and his crew of the—” she glanced at the ship’s name in faded paint across the bow “—Tapochau Royal risked their lives to rescue stranded survivors of a plane crash in the Northern Mariana islands. I’m sure this publicity would favor your business.”
With a menacing scowl, Sayoc focused his pistol’s aim on Becca.
Becca backed away. “Then again, maybe not.”
Mich leaned over to Roland. “Looks like our good captain here is media shy.”
“The good captain here vorks for a ruthless businessman on a private island in the Pacific who has access to creatures the vorld has never seen. Secrecy and confidentiality vould be his main concerns. Did you expect the captain vould velcome us with open arms, tell us his story, and vant a book deal?” Roland said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Good point,” said Becca with an awkward grin. “Obviously the whole reporter thing was a bad idea. What now, then?”
“Vell,” Roland mused. “Unless Mich here vants to offer himself to Captain Sayoc—”
“—that ain’t gonna happen,” Mich was swift to reply.
“Then I suppose ve only have one option, you know.”
“Which is?”
Roland stepped toward the ship, grabbed the M4 assault rifle strapped over his shoulder and presented the weapon to Sayoc for him to see. “Ve have guns!”
Mich, Rousseau, and Becca quickly followed suit, indicating their weapons.
Sayoc ducked into the bridge and returned moments later wearing a mocking smile. “So do we.” From the ship’s superstructure, a dozen heavily armed Filipino men stormed onto the deck and took up positions along the gunwale, their Uzi sub-machine guns targeting Roland and the crew on the loading dock.
This time Roland held up his hands in surrender, nodded to the others to do the same, and backed away from the supply ship. “So much for that idea,” Roland said. “Vat now?”
Mich peered up at the plateau’s precipice towering above them and took a deep breath. “Looks like we have no choice. Now we wait.”
CHAPTER 49
Supporting Christina with his arm, Lincoln sprinted behind Gray, Enheim, and Katya across the manicured lawn in the direction of the loading elevator with gunshots echoing through the air. Although the battle between Merrick’s men and the islanders raged within the hotel grounds, with a little determination and a whole lot of luck, this nightmare would soon be over.
Gray spotted the elevator near the plateau’s edge. As they stood on the platform ready to descend the rock face to the waiting supply ship, a bullet ricocheted off the handrail beside Lincoln. They turned to see Van Sant charging toward them, gun raised.
Lincoln reached for his rifle as Van Sant closed in less than ten yards away. “Try it, and you’re dead,” he said calmly, his gun’s barrel leveled at Lincoln’s forehead.
Lincoln grunted with dissatisfaction, annoyed at their allowing themselves to be captured at this stage. Slowly, he moved his hand away from the rifle, and Van Sant confiscated the weapon.
“You, too, old man,” Van Sant said, pointing his chin at Gray. As Gray’s hands shot in the air in surrender, Van Sant grabbed Gray’s sidearm along with Christina’s crossbow.
Van Sant studied the bedraggled group. He contemplated his actions and the repercussions of those actions. It was now or never. “My employer Tom Merrick plans to sell a high yield weapon to a couple of Nigerian warlords. Normally, I wouldn’t care what animals like that do to each other in some shithole part of the world, but when they started talking about using it on Americans, well… I may be a bastard, but I’m also a patriot. I love my country.”
The group glanced at one another, unsure of where this speech was leading.
Van Sant took a long last look at the group before returning their weapons. He lowered his rifle to his side. Speechless, Lincoln and Gray took back their guns, still confused by the unforeseen turn of events. “Merrick has gone off the rails,” Van Sant said. “His lust for wealth has clouded his judgement. This—” he indicated the hotel and the surrounding jungle—“all this is one thing, but bombing Americans? Well, that’s something else.”
