(A/N: God, I've been busy lately. I've been scrambling about town searching for a job, and even though the economy is improving prospects still aren't looking great. I did however have an interview at a famous local resort as a short-order cook/dishwasher last week, and I'm expecting to know any day now if I got the job, so wish me luck. Please Read & Review.)
Holmes crouched into a boxer's stance and waited. The combatants were to fight on a series of wooden planks over a pit that had dozens of razor-sharp cane stalks sticking out of the ground. A wrong step would mean instant and painful death.
Holmes' first opponent, a fat, hairy man, charged toward him across one of the planks, wild fire in his eyes.
Your last mistake, thought Holmes. A spinning circle-kick took the man in the face, knocking him down to the cane below.
"I told you the Norteamericano had the stones," said the warden to the guards, "He is muy brutale. I have wagered well, eh?"
The second fighter, another large man, but this time muscular and bearded, was a little cagier. He moved toward Holmes slowly, apparently intent on finessing him. But his crude boxer's combination never found its target as Holmes dodged the blows and threw a powerful haymaker to the man's gut, finishing with a right cross to the nose that sent him down.
The third fighter, a younger man with a long ponytail, was smart as well as tough.
"I have seen your moves, gringo." The man kept a safe distance from Holmes, hopping from board to board whenever he got too close. "You have worn yourself out on the first two."
Holmes didn't reply, but it was true. He was dehydrated, underfed, and his vision was swimming from the fever. And the fight was slowing down, making the guards restless.
"This is tiresome," said the warden, "Put some fight in it! Let us see some blood!" He threw a machete to Holmes' opponent.
"What kind of odds will you give my Yankee, now?" he said to the guards.
"Ten to one!"
"Here is my week's pay that the gringo dies screaming!"
The warden had a lot of faith in Holmes. More than Holmes did in himself, for that matter.
The only way to win is to change the rules, thought Holmes, rubbing sweat from his blackened left eye.
The fighter swung the cane cutter at Holmes, who was barely able to dodge.
"Adios, amigo," said Comadreja from the sidelines. There were tears in his eyes.
Just as the fighter hefted the blade to swing again, Holmes did something unexpected: He leapt upward and came down hard on the board, causing it to rock. His opponent, taken off balance, stumbled and fell, managing to grab the side.
"Please, have mercy," he said to Holmes, fear in his voice.
Holmes stood there for a moment, apparently considering the man's plea. Finally, he took a step back . . . and kicked the man in the face, knocking him to his death.
The warden cheered as the other guards grumbled. He'd become a very rich man off of this scrappy gringo.
Back at the capital, Jane and Delgado were comparing notes on what they had learned.
"Lying seems to be the national pastime," said Delgado angrily, "I talked to about six guys who said they could take me to Holmes. Prices ranged from five hundred bucks to ten thousand. They're all full of wind."
"Holmes is a prisoner in work camp sinco near Lake Mentira at the center of the island," said Jane.
"Color me impressed," said Delgado, "Where'd you get this?"
"I paid off a cop who gave me Holmes' arrest sheet," said Jane, "Everything's for sale down here."
"Then we gotta move fast," said Delgado, "The revolutionaries have blocked the main highways, blown the rail lines, and are in mortar distance of the airport. When it all comes apart, it's gonna be in a hurry."
At the Villamos chateau, Carmelita was busily packing her suitcase when Ernesto marched into her room.
"Hermana, I told you to be ready! We must be leaving!"
"But I only have part of my wardrobe packed and some of my shoes," she whined.
"Take only one bag," said Villamos, "The guerrillas are closing in on the capital. I have a plane fueled and waiting at the airport."
"I'll lose all my pretty things to those thieving animals!" Carmelita stamped her foot. "Can't you wait a little longer, my brother?"
"We'll buy more when we get to Miami!" he shouted at his sister, "We leave in five minutes!"
"Don't just stand there!" she shouted at her maid, "Get my largest bag and pack it."
"Yes, yes," said the maid, hurrying to obey.
Puerto Dulce: Day 7
Delgado crawled through the underbrush on his stomach, having donned his old BDU to blend into the forest as the sun set.
This is too much like 'Nam, he thought to himself, You'd better appreciate this, Holmes.
He unslung his camouflaged Remington 700, adjusted the sights, and looked through the scope to see if he could find Holmes.
Okay, the workday should be just about over, Delgado thought to himself, the workers'll be going to their huts right about . . . Bingo.
He spotted Holmes being led by two guards to the hut closest to him. He looked like shit, but he was clearly alive.
Quiet as a mouse, Delgado slipped over the fence, past the guards, and into the hut. He found Holmes sleeping fitfully on a cot near back.
"Holmes," he whispered, gently shaking him.
Holmes stirred slightly, then finally opened his one good eye.
"Delgado?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Yeah," he said, "Jane called me and said you were caught. Let's go."
Holmes shakily got to his feet, but felt a hand on his arm before he could follow Delgado out.
"Can I come with you, Señor?" It was Comadreja. "Coma can help you escape. Or I could shout for the guards."
Delgado glared at the coke-runner, but Holmes nodded and said, "You can start by being a lookout."
"What shall I look out for?" said Coma, sticking his head out the door. Holmes responded by throwing his arm around his neck in a sleeper hold, and dropping Coma when he passed out.
"They will notice my absence," said Holmes as he and Delgado ran for the river, "I was only the only white man in the hut."
"I thought of that," said Delgado, "I wired their motor pool with about five pounds of Semtex inside a fuel drum before coming to get you."
"Is Watson with you?" asked Holmes, "Is she safe?"
"She's fine," said Delgado, "She's waiting with a boat. Let me give the guards a diversion." He took out a remote detonator and pressed the button. Every vehicle in the motor pool went up in flames.
"They will send a helicopter," said Holmes, hurrying as much as he could, "We are not sufficiently armed."
"Jane's got some heavier firepower in the boat." Delgado's words were obscured by the sound of helicopter blades, and a huge spotlight revealed the two figures in the swamp.
"I'll cover you," shouted Delgado, shooting at the tail with his rifle, "the boat's through the reeds on the left!"
Holmes dashed through the reeds and found Jane, sitting in an airboat.
"Watson!" Holmes shouted as he saw her, "I need anti-aircraft ordnance, now!"
"Nice to see you too, Holmes!" she shouted back, "Here, have a party." She tossed him an RPG-7. Holmes took aim with it and shot down the helicopter, creating a fiery explosion.
Jane helped Holmes climb into the boat and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I've been so worried, Holmes."
"I will survive until we return to civilization." Holmes took a seat in the center of the boat and drank from a bottle of water while Delgado started the engine. "We must hurry, the warden looked upon me as his personal pet, and will not easily suffer to lose me."
There was the sound of automatic gunfire and a squealing sound on the side of the boat. Delgado looked back and saw five boats following them, all of the soldiers armed.
"Don't shoot, idiotas!" screamed the warden, "At least, do not shoot the gringo!"
"You planned a getaway through this marsh, and you only sabotaged their wheeled vehicles?" Holmes gave Delgado an unmistakable glare.
"I didn't see the boats, Okay?" Delgado unslung his rifle and crouched to a shooting position while Jane took to piloting the boat. "You come four thousand miles to pull a guy's fat out of the fire and he jumps down your throat."
"Are you hitting anything?" yelled Jane as she frantically tried not to smash the boat into a tree.
"No," said Delgado after a while, "It's a three hundred yard shot over water at targets on a moving boat from a non-stationary base. Thornton could make this shot, but I can't."
Holmes snatched up an M4 carbine from the bottom of the boat and, taking careful aim, put a 3-round burst dead center into the warden's chest. The other boats, quickly losing their stomach for the chase, pulled back.
"What are they doing?" asked Delgado.
"He was not popular among his men," said Holmes.
"Well, from here it's clear to the coast," said Jane, "Nothing between us as the sea but some cypress swamp."
"No," said Holmes, "We have a mission to accomplish before we can think of escape."
"Are you out of your mind?" said Delgado, "Holmes, the whole country is going through a civil war! It's too dangerous!"
"We have to capture Villamos," said Holmes, "He can turn state's evidence against his benefactors in Quadid and, by extension, Moriarty."
"I was only in this for the rescue," said Delgado, "My part of this jamboree is over."
"So where do you want me to drop you off?" asked Jane, nonchalantly slowing the boat, "Just pick a corner."
Delgado looked around. Nothing but jungle for miles. So he just sat back down.
"I left a nice, cozy flophouse for this?" he grumbled to himself.
"It is not fair!" Carmelita's shrill whine pierced the night air as the Villamos' Mercedes pulled into their private airplane hanger.
"What is not fair, Sister?"
"I am allowed only one bag while you bring so many!"
"You think I brought useless personal items?" asked Villamos, glaring at Carmelita, "These cases are filled with American dollars! We will rebuild our lives elsewhere."
This answer satisfied Carmelita. "Let the peons have this pesthole," she said, "I am sick to the gut of it!"
They strolled out to meet their private jet, which had just finished fueling and was ready to go, when a high-pitched noise filled the air.
"MORTAR ATTACK!" yelled Villamos' body, knocking both Ernesto and Carmelita out of the way as the explosives began to come down.
"Get away!" yelled Villamos to his sister, "If they hit the fuel truck – "
He was cut off as a mortar struck the aforementioned truck, causing the plane to disappear in a sea of flames.
"My beautiful jet . . ." said Villamos, staring in horror.
"Well, mi hermano," said Carmelita, "Any more brilliant ideas on how we shall get to the United States?"
"Delgado?"
The sailor was shaken from his reverie by Holmes voice.
"Delgado, are you well?"asked Holmes, concern in his voice.
"Yeah," he replied, "It just all seems so familiar. The swamp; the damp; the sweet rotten stink of it all; reminds me of the night I almost drowned in the Mekong, fighting river pirates."
THUMP
The airboat went flying as it rammed into a fallen tree, sending its passengers plunging into the marsh.
"Holmes!" said Jane, rushing over to him, "Are you okay?"
"Yes, Watson," he said. Holmes tried to stand, but fell forward into the muck.
"My God," said Jane, doing her best to get him on his feet, "he's burning up. Delgado! We have to get Holmes to a hospital."
"We got bigger problems," said Delgado, "Get down!" Delgado ran toward them and dragged them behind a tree as a troop of revolutionaries opened fire on them.
"Don't worry, we're out of range," said Delgado, "Vietcong, these guys aren't. They'll take potshots until they're tired and then go back to grumbling about the means of production."
They crouched in the mud for a few hours, but the revolutionaries finally left around noon. Holmes had regained full consciousness, but the cuts on his leg were swollen, and his fever was getting worse.
"Delgado, watch Holmes," said Jane, "I'm going to see if I can find the first aid kit I had back in the boat." The kit, she knew, had some opioids that would reduce the inflammation long enough to get Holmes medical treatment.
"JANE!" called Delgado, "JANE! CLIMB UP THAT TREE!"
"What's wrong?" she said.
"Trouble, and this time they aren't going home," said Delgado, "They are home!"
Jane then saw what "they" were: A large bask of crocodiles, sitting on the opposite bank.
(A/N: A group of crocodiles is called either a bask or a float. Yeah, this chapter is a little lackluster, but it'll get better. Please Review.)
TO BE CONTINUED.