Chapter Three
"Hah!" Diego slapped the cards down and rocked back in his chair with a triumphant grin across his face, that dimple in his chin narrowing as his face creased in amusement. "I believe that is a full house, is it not Two-Skins?"
There was a muttering of amusement and disdain as the rest of the patrol looked over their own cards and the scattered offering of Diego's hand on the table, proudly showing three sevens and two aces, the black and red colours as damning and convincing of his victory as you'd ever need.
Raoul sighed, his lips flapping together like a balloon losing air as he tossed his worthless hand on the table. The Queen of hearts teetered on the tables edge for a moment, a final glare from her it seemed, as she slipped off the side and plummeted to the floor along with Raoul's hopes of making any money that night. Diego grinned again as he swept up his winnings into his arms like a mother hen clucking over her chicks.
"I like this game very much Two-Skins," he said. "You might be the best Captain we've had yet." Raoul's eyebrows climbed his forehead as he felt the regret for teaching the patrol the rules in the first place.
"Beginners luck, Diego,'' said Raoul, rubbing a hand over his face and fiddling with his wedding wing. "Beginners luck."
Edwardo threw down his own cards and stood up, tucking his shirt into his pants against the strain of his rounded stomach and sniffing noisily.
"Fucking American game,'' he said haughtily. "All about the damn money." He pushed his chair away as he lumbered over to the door and threw it open, letting in the noise of the ocean and smell of the strong sea air and letting out the thick cloud of cigar and cigarette smoke that hung in the room.
The stars twinkled beyond Edwardo's bulk as he stalked off out of sight, grumbling and already rolling a cigarette in his meaty hands.
The patrol boat rocked gently on the tide as Raoul stood and watched Diego pocketing his winnings, the younger man slapping the newest member Julian on the back.
"Better luck next time eh?" said Diego happily, producing a cigarette of his own from somewhere like a conjuror. Raoul wouldn't have been surprised, or amused, if a few cards slipped out of a sleeve as well. Diego shot the wolf grin again and tucked his dark hair behind his ear. "You'll need better luck to survive…" he paused and his voice grew a bit hoarser, "out there, eh Sapling." Diego nodded his head at the open door and the darkness beyond, the gentle breeze choosing that moment to rush in a bit stronger, adding a shade of drama to Diego's well-trodden performance. Julian's eyes grew a bit wider, the whites showing vividly. Looked like the lad thought they were about to dump him on the islands there and then.
"Get back to your post Diego,'' said Raoul. "Playtime is over." He shot Diego his own well-trodden performance of glares and frowns. He'd been a Captain for four months and already he was sure he'd picked up new crease lines in his face from all the glaring and frowning. Diego cackled and sauntered off, his pockets jingling with coins and keys as he stuffed the colóns and dollars into them.
"Is he…" began Julian.
"He's an ass,'' said Raoul, giving Julian a pat on the shoulder. "Ignore him." Felt as helpful as a third armpit, but it was all he could offer the boy. Julian would need to learn how to deal with people like Diego in his own way. "Why don't you go see if Elena needs any help. Probably about time she had a break."
Julian nodded and made his way to the door and the open air, fussing with his hands and looking at the dark horizon as it bobbed up and down with the current. It was same with all new recruits. Always fascinated, always terrified by what wasn't far away. Raoul watched him leave and turned back to the last member of the patrol, sat there with her hand of cards still clenched in one slender fist and the other drumming on the tabletop.
"He's a damn cheat that Diego,'' said Maria, the faintest semblance of a smile tugging at her full lips.
"And we are all sore losers," said Raoul, twisting his wedding ring again. Maria made a pout and leant back in her chair, setting the cards down slowly. She stretched, letting the gap between the undone top buttons on her shirt widen against the swell of her chest. The valley between her breasts was difficult not to notice, even beneath the shirt. She caught him looking, that pout becoming a definite smile now. Raoul coughed.
"Your uniform needs correcting, Officer Vasquez. See to it. Now." He gave her the most commanding frown he could manage given the blushing in his cheeks and strode purposefully to the steps leading to the bridge.
"Yes sir,'' she said, feigning a tone of obedience, giving him a smirk and not adjusting her shirt in the slightest. "That was clever of you though." He paused on the first step, looking over his shoulder at her. The light caught her long dark hair, giving it a pleasant shimmer. His thumb found his ring again, giving it a nudge.
"What's that, Officer?"
"Teaching them that game. Playing with us. Builds on the respect we have for you."
"I'm not sure losing a few dollars to Diego earns much respect.''
"It earns something,'' shrugged Maria. "More than you suspect."
"Not enough to stop him calling me Two-Skins, though eh?" Raoul rubbed at his chin, the bristles of his beard brushing against his fingers.
"Diego has a name for everyone, Captain." She gave him a look up and down. Not the first, and probably not the last. "But only you has the luck of being half American. Might be we all call you Two-Skins."
"It has never felt like much luck,'' said Raoul. "Certainly did me no favours tonight."
"Oh, I don't know,'' purred Maria. "You have the luck of landing us as your team. That's some rare luck indeed." She arched back in her seat again, almost feline, and Raoul had to clear his throat again and avert his eyes from the fascinating curves her body made against the rigid chair. Didn't feel much like respect, the way she was teasing him like this.
"See to that uniform, Maria,'' he said, trying to dig that authority out again and ignore the shape she made and the tingling that was stirring in him, and the shame. He thought he heard a gentle sigh and giggle from her as he climbed the stairs, and he tried to ignore that as well.
As he climbed, the metal steps made that familiar clang, changing in pitch the higher he climbed. For some reason it always calmed him. Four months of being a Captain and already this patrol boat felt more like home than back on shore, its sounds and smells a good remedy to any dark mood or pangs of shame and temptation. He rubbed his ring again, annoyed that it felt like that. All being well they'd be back in Costa Rica tomorrow and he could finish this week's patrol without incident, any incidents, and be back with Sofía and the kids. The edge of his ring pressed a bit too firmly into his finger and he grunted, pushing through into the bridge and coming to stand by Ricardo at the helm.
Outside, the moonlight shone across the surface of the ocean as they listed calmly, the dark ripples of the tide shimmering through the silver reflections on the water. Ricardo had the lights dimmed almost to near darkness. Usual protocol for night-time patrol of course, but Raoul's eyes weren't what they used to, and he often found himself squinting in the gloom.
The bridge was a small smoke wreathed room, overlooking the prow of the boat through three curving windows. What passed for the boats controls and electronic equipment fanned around the room beneath the windows, an array of blinking lights and buttons with quiet beeps intermittently adding their contribution to the scene in front of the figure sat in the middle of it all.
Ricardo sat at the helms wheel, draped in a chair with half lidded eyes and one hand hanging off the chairs plastic arm, the other loosely flopped on the wheel with a cigarette tucked between two fingers. What little light there was glowed faintly off the man's bald head. To anyone else, they might have thought he was half asleep. His breathing was certainly slow and measured enough. Raoul knew it was quite the opposite. Ricardo was always alert. Always watchful. A useful helmsman, and Raoul preferred it when it was Ricardo's shift to steer.
"Quiet tonight?" said Raoul.
"Very quiet,'' said Ricardo after a few quite moments, his voice gentle.
"Any calls or alerts? Anything on Radar?"
Ricard just slowly shook his head. "Nothing but a good night for fishing Two-Skins."
"I'd prefer we make port without a catch this time,'' mused Raoul, stroking at his beard again and ignoring the name. "This close to Christmas, I'm hoping the usual crowds will lose interest and focus on their shopping."
"Be the opposite, no?" said Ricardo. "Make a good present, wouldn't it? Some up close photo's or a few teeth maybe? You see them selling knock off's and fakes in town now. Big fake claws on a bit of string. Make's a good souvenir to the gullible tourists or a good stocking filler for the Americans." Ricardo made a sort of clicking noise with his tongue, those half-lidded eyes flicking across to Raoul. "Still, least it keeps us busy, no?"
"So it does. Keep a watch out eh? I've got Elena and Julian on lookout up front. She's been on since midday and he's a bit…green."
"Sea-sick?" A smirk flashed across the helmsman's face.
"You know what I mean."
"Best hope for a catch then no? Bit of action might be what the boy needs."
"I'm hoping for a clean rotation this time round." Raoul rubbed at his beard and itched his eyes, hoping a clean rotation would be exactly what they got. The last time they'd seen some action he'd near shit himself. The cameras of those daring tourists, with the long lenses, had looked like weapons from a certain angle. Raoul had been sure they'd caught poachers, and poachers weren't always the most accepting of being caught. He thought of Sophía and the kids again and itched at his eyes that bit harder. Always so much at stake it seemed. Maria's laugh echoed from somewhere on the boat, and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Always so much at stake.
"I'm going to do my rounds,'' sighed Raoul. "Diego's probably got his feet up by now. Good work Ricardo. Few more hours and we are headed home."
Ricardo made that strange clicking noise again and hummed something as Raoul headed back down the steps, through the cabin they used to eat and play cards and stepped out onto the narrow deck on the port side of the patrol boat.
Somewhere off in the darkness he could hear Edwardo coughing and grumbling, and Maria's low singing as well, just on the edge of hearing. Such a pleasant noise. He moved away from it, heading towards the prow where two figures were perched against the starboard railings, looking out into the darkness with the large night vision binoculars issued to all patrols. He could see Elena's tall wiry frame leant out almost dangerously far. That woman seemed oblivious to dangers of any kind. Probably explained how she could be on lookout for hours on end. Fatigue and a sense of her own preservation were complete strangers to her.
Beside her, the smaller but stockier figure of Julian leant on the rails. Even from here, Raoul could see the hesitancy, the constant checking and fettling with the binoculars, the sense of a novice fumbling his way through his tasks. Might be the lad would take more work than Raoul had at first suspected. Still, he gave everyone a chance.
Raoul found his own place to perch portside and looked out across the dark ocean. The black canvass of night seemed to diminish from the billions upon billions of glittering stars up there. The silver constellations of suns and galaxies, so far away, was nothing but spectacular to look at. Raoul often looked up at it all, getting lost in the twinkling specks of light, feeling smaller and smaller until he and all his worries were nothing but a blink in time. It was one of the few moments he ever felt peaceful.
Then his eyes fell lower, and the silvery wonder above was blotted out by something utterly black on the horizon. A silent, brooding mass of darkness that stretch across the line where the heavens met the earth. A place he'd never been. A place he never wanted to go. But a place he had somehow ended up guarding with a team of people he had known for a number of months that he could count on one hand.
Isla Sorna. One the Five Deaths in the archipelago. The very island that until recently had remained a place of complete obscurity. And probably some level of tranquillity. But now, it was a source of wonder. A source of speculation and spectacle. A place of such mystery that it pulled in thoughtless tourists willing to pay thoughtless sailors for a closer look. And then there were the poachers. The real monsters. The ones willing to risk violating the law to hunt new prey. Elephant tusks and tiger pelts must seem superfluous to the kinds of trophies they could find on that island.
Looking out across the dark sea it felt as if they were the only ones in the whole world. The only ones that stood between the island and the gawkers. But the other patrols were out there. Around Sorna. Around the other islands. Even Nublar, some eighty-seven miles away. A blockade of boats to keep the islands, and the gawkers, safe.
Strange times to be living in. But with new legislation comes new job opportunities, and work meant money. And money meant food in his children's stomachs and a roof over his families head. A strange equation that he could benefit from. Benefit in more ways than one.
He huffed and rubbed his wedding ring, wondering if fucking a member of your team counted as a benefit or a direct way to end both his marriage and job in one go. He listened to Maria's singing again and took a deep breath. He'd have to end it. Soon. Trouble was, he didn't know if he meant his marriage or his affair. He rubbed the metal band on his finger.
The sudden slowing of the engine and squeal of a sliding window caught his attention and he jerked his head up to look at the cloudy windows of the bridge. Ricardo's head and shoulders were hanging out, an arm waving.
He raced back to the bridge, his sudden movement drawing looks from the team as they moved about the boat. He burst into the bridge, his heart beating swiftly and that strange feeling of fear and excitement swelling in his guts.
"What is it?"
"Vessel on the approach. Two miles north-east and closing." Ricardo looked slightly more animated than before, leant over the dials and glowing screens of the radar monitor.
"One of ours?" Raoul watched the green shape on the screen flare with every pass of the scanner.
"No. Sorna Five and Eight are inbound to support, and it's not them." Seemed a long moment hung on the air as they watched that screen. Painfully long.
"Places then." Raoul felt that feeling in his guts evaporate. Purpose always made him think clearly.
Ricardo hit a different button and the lights above went completely out, the illuminated guide markers on the floor glowing faintly with that hellish red to lead him back down to the deck.
Outside, the red bulkhead lights were on, the only indicators the team needed to know they had to get into position. Raoul felt the absurd need to call out something commanding or authoritative. In the films the hero was always yelling for his men to take their positions amongst the swelling noise of action building to an exciting confrontation.
Real life was always much different. So much quieter. It always surprised him.
The soft scuffles of feet shuffling along the deck and the scrambling of hands grabbing onto ladder rungs sounded so muffled against the gentle lapping of the sea against the hull. Only the occasional cough from Edwardo gave an indication of his position. Keys jingled and there was a soft thud, then the metallic clicking of the rifles. Organised and efficient, no movement wasted. Diego may have acted the moron at cards, but when it came to action he knew his business. He had the crew armed within moments.
Raoul found his megaphone, the switch by his thumb to give his voice that power and volume just itching to be flicked. He took his place near the prow, boots planted and fixed, watching and waiting.
Beside him, Julian's hurried breathing came short and fast. Almost a pant.
"Calm," said Raoul, not looking at the younger man. "Easy hands, easy heart. Calm. Just stay alert."
He heard a rattling as Julian nodded, the rosary beads around his neck clicking together. And then came the engine.
There it was, softly to begin with, building in volume until it overtook the slapping of the ocean, the guttural sound of something manmade harsh against that of nature.
The newcomers had tried to mask their position, dimming their own lights and only using what looked like handheld torches to light their way, but Raoul could see them clear as Christmas lights in the market. Could be an inexperienced smuggler, or just some fishermen trying to earn a few extra dollars from some eager thrill seekers. Either way, Raoul felt a fraction better. Poachers were better at this. Still, when confronted by the law, you never knew how people would react. He fingered his service weapon in its holster, hoping he wouldn't need to draw it.
He looked about the boat into the dark, hoping to see some sign of Sorna Five or Eight. A bit of back up was always welcome. Always needed when the chance of all hell breaking loose hung by a thread. Didn't appear to be any sign of them. Looked like they were on their own for the moment.
The approaching boat was closing on their starboard side, maybe fifty metres away, when Raoul gave the nod up to Maria as she stood at the spotlight station above the bridge roof. Even in the dark, with just the faintest glow of red from a nearby bulkhead, he could see her smiling face. Did she ever stop smiling at him? She nodded back and then her arm slapped the side of the spotlight, and with a heavy clunk, a bright beam of light cut through the dark and illuminated the boat.
It was a small vessel, smaller that the patrol boat, with a low cabin and small rear deck area. A few rusty looking cages were tucked into the rear of the deck, and the flecking blue paint on the hull leant it a somewhat rustic charm. In the port it would have looked like any other fishing boat. Raoul could even see the small row of fishing rods stacked against its portside. Not unlike his fathers. Didn't matter much now though.
He flicked the switch on the megaphone and used his most growling voice.
"Attention! You are in restricted waters and in direct violation of Section Nine of the Gene Guard Act. Shut off your engine!" He could make out movement from within the cabin. Hurried, shaky movement. Panicking people, wondering how on earth they'd been caught. "Step onto your deck with your arms up. Shut off your engine. Now!"
More movement now, as the engine cut out with a throaty clonk. Figures emerging onto the rear deck, timidly. Raoul watched them all closely, the intensity almost painful in his forehead and behind his eyes. Or was that just the hope none of this would end in disagreement and gunfire?
He was acutely aware of his team around him in their positions, and the rifles in their hands. The barrels weren't pointed at the other boat, but they weren't exactly at ease either. They were all poised, all ready, all willing to be brought to bear should there be the slightest indication these people were willing to disobey the law. And who could blame them? They were now facing down a weighty punishment.
Three, no, four now, figures appeared on the deck, their faces squinting against the spotlight that Maria mercilessly trained on them, their arms reaching uncertainly into the air. Raoul studied them as the boats began to float closer. Ricardo had re-engaged their own engine now, edging them closer to the intruders and giving Raoul a good look at them.
Pale skin mostly, and frightened eyes. Tourists then. Three men and a woman. Would-be thrill seekers, hoping for a closer look at the animals. They looked shockingly young. Early twenties perhaps. Not much younger than Julian, children almost. Or so it seemed to Raoul. Well dressed with flashes of gold on their wrists and two with large cameras around their necks, they couldn't look any more like the usual morons that thought they could slip through the patrols. Funny how it seemed to be the same type of people. Stupidity must be in abundance with plenty more to share round. Certainly seemed to be infecting the fisherman that were acting as smugglers.
And here he came now. A small, old man, with a weathered and lined face, shuffling out behind his passengers. A local. A local pulling a living from the sea and now facing the prospect of losing it all for the sake of a few American dollars. Raoul found himself grimacing. Sometimes, he wished it was the poachers.
The fisherman had his own terrified look. Who wouldn't, when faced with sudden authority and a lot of loaded weapons? His shaking hands were caught somewhere between wanting to wring them together and raise them up like the tourists. Raoul watched him closely. Of all of them, he looked the most likely to do something stupid. Well, something more stupid than he'd already done. There was just that look in his eyes. The look of desperation.
Edwardo was making his way to the edge of the patrol boat now, slinging his rifle and letting his size do the intimidating as the tourists got a good view of his bulk, their eyes darting up to his height as it towered above them. Handy to have a big man on the team.
The hulls bumped together and Edwardo looped a thick rope around the cleats of both boats, his meaty hands working swiftly. The hulls made that strange groaning sound that boats do when they rub together, almost like two protesting animals unhappy to be sharing the same space.
"Step this way,'' rumbled Edwardo, gesturing onto the deck of the patrol boat. The fisherman looked like he understood, but the tourists looked blankly back. Raoul sighed.
"Step aboard please,'' said Raoul in English, his accent thick around the words. He was fluent, but it still felt strange using it instead of Spanish. "Nice and slowly."
The four pale passengers muttered something and then began to file across onto the patrol boat, jostling and bumping into each other. Raoul caught flashes of scared and annoyed faces. It was the second one who found his voice. A voice dripping with an indignant whine.
"This is just a misunderstanding!" he bleated. "We were night fishing. You can't do this! This goes against our human rights!" Raoul just sighed again. Edwardo glared balefully down at the man.
"Step aboard please,'' repeated Raoul. "Thank you. You will be detained and questioned in line with the law. And your human rights, for that matter." He switched to Spanish, looking back at the fisherman. "Your boat may be seized. Please step aboard."
One of the young tourists suddenly yelped, his arms waving as he sank to his knee. He dragged the woman in front of him down, her scream of surprise startling everyone further. Raoul caught the movement of rifles raising, the sudden commotion sparking that knee jerk reaction in people to use the things they were holding. Edwardo was leaning in, growling at them in Spanish and adding to the confusion. The man that had slipped had a foot and leg dangling between the hulls, his arms still flailing as he tried to right himself. People were shouting now, and Diego was rushing in, rifle swinging onto his back. Spanish and English voices were competing to be the loudest.
Elena was moving towards the action now, her sinewy hands grabbing at the first man aboard in an attempt to haul him out of the way. The megaphone was halfway to Raoul's mouth when there was a flash of movement and the glint of light on a metal blade. The pit of Raoul's stomach opened up, the breath stuck in his throat. His hand darted to the leather holster at his hip.
"Stay where you are!" roared a voice. Raoul wheeled around. Julian was there, his rifled trained on the fisherman, the barrel steady, level, with Julian breathing calmly as he sighted down its length. Raoul followed its direction to look back at the local and the hatchet in his raised hand.
There was a wild look in the mans eyes. Like that of a caged animal. He was stood by one of the cleats on his boat, right where Diego was also stood. Whether or not he'd intended to cut the rope or hit Diego, they'd never know. Time seemed to stand still. Raoul felt that hole in his stomach twitching, ready to cave in and become an abyss. His mouth felt very, very dry.
The fisherman let the hatchet tumble to the deck and sank to his knees, sobbing and putting his head in his hands. Diego gave Julian a look of utter surprise before blowing a long breath out through his nose.
Diego hauled the old man up and manoeuvred him, none to gently, aboard the patrol boat and after the shuffling figures of his temporary employers, his sobs fading. The ones who had likely cost him his livelihood. Why was it always like this with people? Raoul shook his head as he watched them get steered towards the hold.
There was a resounding bang as the door to the hold was secured. Raoul hated that noise. Always seemed so harsh on his ears. Already he could hear the voices of Diego and Maria, laughing and jeering each other. Just another catch. He turned to Julian.
"I reckon you can hold that one over Diego for a while,'' said Raoul, scratching at his beard and giving the lad a knowing grin. "Good work. That could have gone a lot differently without you."
Julian's chest almost visibly swelled, a look of disbelief and pride washing across his face. Might be hope for the boy yet. Raoul gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Give Edwardo and Elena a hand rigging this boat up behind ours, eh? Drinks are on me when we make port. But don't tell the others I said that." Julian grinned and shouldered his rifle, making his way over towards the rope that held the boats together, a bit more purpose and confidence in his stride. Yes, might be hope for the boy yet.
Raoul took a deep breath as he leant against the railing and watched his team get busy. He'd not been wrong. Without Julian, that would have ended in the worst way. Might be that he did have a bit of that rare luck landing this team after all.
And luck like that was hard to come by.