Four Pirates, a Little Lady, and Love
Chapter 03
by Technomad
Foreign Base "Che Guevara," Democratic Kampuchea
"This had better work," Mario LaGuerta muttered. He looked around uneasily. The Kampuchean forest was not unlike those of his native Cuba, but he could sense that he was nowhere near home. The birdsongs were different, the air smelled different…every little detail was different. To someone not used to the tropics, the differences would have seemed inconsequential, but Mario LaGuerta had spent his life mainly in tropical and sub-tropical areas.
"Trust me, it'll work," smiled the chief of the scientists they had escorted from Cuba, Dr. Angel Gonzales. "The Lovelaces' own scientists did exemplary work. With this, Cuba will have a new source of foreign exchange, at long last."
Dr. Gonzales was supervising a group of scientists who were putting the final touches on the Lovelaces' secret development. LaGuerta and his men were providing security; the area was not under anybody's direct control, and there was always the possibility of a firefight. Many of the locals were desperate enough to think that the scraps of this-and-that they could have looted from the base were valuable. LaGuerta had been in many scary, sad places, but this was one of the worst. Some of his men were spooked, both by the distance from Cuba and the feel of the place.
"It's haunted, Comrade," they complained. "We can feel the spirits…the unquiet dead…left over from the reign of that madman Pol Pot." While Cuba discouraged it, many of his men believed in Santeria, and they had started to perform rites intended to propitiate angry ghosts. LaGuerta left them to it; his own private opinion was that the regime's hostility to religion, be it Catholicism or Santeria, was a stupidity that stirred up needless hostility among the people.
Let them have their beliefs, LaGuerta thought. Of course, he didn't say so out loud; he had no desire to end up on the Isle of Pines. Open criticism of the regime was still a one-way ticket to trouble, and a lifetime spent under the Castros' dictatorship had conditioned him well.
"And those two children…the ones we had assigned to us…also make us nervous," said one of the soldiers, a Private Garcia. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and LaGuerta saw that one of the children in question had sauntered over to see how things were going.
"Hello, mister," said an angelic-looking blonde girl in an old-fashioned dress. "Dragul meu frate and I wanted to see how you were getting along."
"Fine! Bueno! Never better!" LaGuerta was no coward, but something about those two set every alarm bell in his mind screaming warnings of dreadful danger. They seemed so serene, so beautiful…and he sensed that they were deadlier than any snake or shark.
"Bine! We'll leave you to it!" With a tinkling laugh, the girl turned away, toward the hut she shared with her brother. Her white-blonde hair rippled in the wind as she skipped away. He could hear her singing, her voice like an angel's, and he shuddered.
"Madre de todos los chingadas, those two give me the screaming creeps! What did Havana think we needed them for?" muttered Dr. Gonzales.
"I've heard that they were…created…originally by the Romanians. Something about countering a program the Italians had, where orphaned kids were turned into killer cyborgs. The Romanians did it in collaboration with the Soviets, and these two are the only ones who've survived this long."
"You mean they aren't human?"
"They were meant to be the ultimate killing machines. Better than human, although not long-lasting. Most of the subjects of the Romanians' experiments died not long after the Ceausescus' regime went down. These two escaped somehow, though, and they've earned a living as hired killers ever since." Politically incorrect or not, LaGuerta crossed himself, the gesture offering him some slight comfort. "I don't know how the intelligence boys came across them, and I don't want to know!"
Roanapur, Thailand"Do you know where this base is?" asked Dutch. He had a bunch of charts and maps of the Roanapur area and adjacent parts of Thailand and Cambodia spread out all over the Lagoon Company's offices.
"No, not offhand. We know that they're here…our contacts were quite specific that they were not far from Roanapur…but we don't have the place pinpointed." Garcia peered at the maps, with Roberta and Fabiola behind him.
"We've got lots of contacts around here. I think we can find where the Cubans are." Rock pointed out. "They can't be operating their base in a complete vacuum. They'd need to buy supplies, and that would get noticed."
"Good point, Rock. Do you think you can find out where they're likely to be?"
"I can make inquiries. The Rip-off Church would be a good place to go. Wanna come along, Revy?"
"Nah," Revy replied. "The little voices in my head said it was a good day to stay home and clean my pistols." Everybody looked at her, and she grinned wickedly. "What? You all think I'm crazy anyway…I figured I might's well go for it!" She made a "crazy" face and rolled her eyes.
Rock caught Dutch's eye, and they both sadly shook their heads, tapping their foreheads with their fingers.
"I'll come along," piped up Rachel. "I'm bored, and a walk in town sounds like just the ticket!"
"Not a bad idea. Most people in this place know better than to bother Rock, but remember what happened when those Norks jumped him? I'd breathe a little easier if he had a gun with him, but he won't carry one. Also, if trouble does happen, whoever starts it won't be too likely to realize that you're a threat till too late."
Rachel nodded, proud to be given real responsibility. She drew her Walther PPK, checking the chamber to make sure it was loaded, and patted her pockets to make sure she had several spare magazines as well. "Come on, Rock…time's a-wastin', as we say back home!" She grabbed Rock's arm and towed the unresisting salaryman toward the door.
Once they were gone, Roberta said, to nobody in particular: "What a sweet, demure, obedient little girl she is."
"Hey!" Garcia put his hands on his hips. "Don't say mean things about her! It's not her fault she grew up in a tough place!"
Dutch exchanged glances with Roberta and Fabiola. All three of them suddenly looked very knowing.
000
Rock was glad to get out of the office. Among other things, Revy was cranky at having to work with "Glasses Bitch," or "Four-Eyes," her pet names for Roberta. Rock could also see easily that Roberta was not happy about working alongside Revy; the Colombian woman emphatically didn't approve of Revy's swearing, her heavy, open drinking, or her…exuberant…style of dress. Getting away from them was a relief.
Rachel was not Revy, and never would be Revy, but she wasn't bad company. In some ways, she was a bit of an improvement on Revy…she was much less volatile, and willing to listen to what Rock said. She had taken all of the Lagoon Company as teachers, and in Rock's private opinion, she was a quick learner. He mentally deplored the fact that she had apparently not done well in her schools back in New York City.
Rachel bounced along beside him, enjoying the day. She had a talent for sucking the maximum enjoyment out of anything she was doing, whether conning the Black Lagoon in and out of harbor under Dutch's critical, knowing eye, target practice in the dump, or just going out for some shopping with her sister's boyfriend.
As they passed a small liquor store, Rachel asked: "Wait for me a second, will you, Rock?" Before Rock could say anything, she ducked into the store, and came out a few minutes later with a paper bag under her arm. "Thanks. We were running low on gin, so I figured I'd pick some up."
"We're running low on gin, Rachel, because someone keeps drinking it. And we know who that is, don't we?" Rachel was the only member of the Lagoon Company who favored gin; Revy liked Bacardi rum, Dutch and Benny both preferred whisky, and Rock himself wasn't particularly fussy. "Just don't be swigging the whole thing at once. Remember how sick you got?" The last time she'd had as much gin as she thought she wanted, Rachel had spent much of the night throwing up, according to a very amused Revy, and had dragged around the next day looking like death warmed-over.
Rachel scowled at Rock, who reacted with with his usual equanimity. Having faced off more than once with an angry Revy, Rock was not at all frightened of her thirteen-year-old sister. "Look, it's not my fault or yours, but right now you're smaller than we are, so it takes less booze to get to you. Once you've got your full growth, you'll probably be able to drink even with Revy or even me." In his previous life in Japan, Rock had been a "salaryman"…a white-collar worker for a corporation…and heavy drinking with co-workers was expected. Not long after meeting Revy, she had challenged him to a drinking duel, expecting to be able to humiliate this white-shirted office drone, and Rock had taken considerable pleasure in showing her just how ignorant of Japanese ways she was.
By this time, they were at the Rip-Off Church. They were greeted by Father Rico. "Ah, welcome! Good to see you again, Rock, Rachel! I'll tell Sis you're here!"
As the priest turned to leave, Rachel muttered: "So yummy, and sworn to leave women alone. God must hate us poor women." Rock shushed her. He had little understanding of Catholicism, and knew that the church was mainly a front for weapons smuggling, but he didn't care for the idea of Rachel criticizing their hosts' ways.
END Chapter 03
