Dead Man's Land by Jack Patterson (digital e reader .txt) 📕

a matter of minutes, the three men commenced the transfer of ten thousand dollars from boat to boat.

Belliard’s boat contained a small cabin in the hull. Torres surveyed it, deeming it barely seaworthy. He wondered if Belliard had ever actually been out on it.

For the last load of money, Torres followed Belliard down into the hull. Belliard hadn’t even put the money down before Torres began pounding him.

Belliard staggered back and pulled a pistol out of a holder on his ankle. He pointed it at Torres.

“Looks like someone needs to get transferred back tonight,” Belliard said.

Torres threw his hands in the air. Before Belliard could make another move, Torres moved to the side and wrestled the gun from the guard’s hands. He then trained the gun on Belliard.

“The tables have turned. Looks like I get out of jail free tonight.”

Torres was about to pull the trigger when he heard footsteps on the deck above, followed by rapidly descending footfalls. Ortega appeared at the foot of the steps, panting.

“Someone’s coming,” he said.

“Help! Down here!” Belliard said.

Torres cracked Belliard in the head with the butt of his handgun. The guard slumped to the floor.

“You gonna take care of him?” Ortega asked, gesturing toward Belliard.

“We can’t take any chances. Besides, he’s not going to come after us. If he does, he’ll have to admit that he broke us out in the first place with the fake paperwork. And I doubt he wants to go to prison.”

“You really think we should take that chance?” Ortega asked.

Torres shoved Belliard’s gun into the back of his pants. “It’s the only chance we’ve got at this point to get out of here with what we came for. Now, if you want to get paid, help me pick up all this money and get it stashed back on our boat. And hurry it up. I’ve got to call back my contact in Miami. It seems we might be able to fill our boat with paying passengers tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 35

CAL AND KELLY WALKED to the police station on Friday morning and chatted along the way. They were tired of talking to one another in the bathroom with the water gushing. The sun beamed bright on them as a cool breeze blew in off the coast.

“How are you feeling about our plan after you’ve had a night to sleep on it?” Kelly asked.

Cal shrugged. “It’s as good as any. Besides, what other options do we have at this point? I think going home empty-handed isn’t one of them.”

“Well, I think it’d be impossible to go home without anything at this point. I got some great photos—and you’ve got a story one way or another.”

“But it’s not the story I want.”

“Be honest, Cal. For once in your life, you don’t really care about the story as much as you care about the person.”

Cal scowled. “I always care about the person.”

“Yeah, the dead person.”

“I care about the living people, too. That’s why I work so hard to get these stories right.”

“But they’re just stories for you. This time, you’ve encountered flesh and blood—and you’re willing to risk almost everything to save him.” She paused. “It’s a new side of you—a side I think I like.”

Cal smiled. “You know me, always reinventing myself.”

Kelly laughed. “You’re pretty much the same person I’ve known since you found your footing as a reporter when you covered that story of those three dead football players in Idaho.”

“Well, I hope I’ve been evolving, albeit slowly.”

“Very slowly.”

“All right. Knock it off. We need to focus here and keep our heads. It’s the only way we’re going to get Prado off this island.”

Kelly nodded toward the police station. “It looks like we’re here.”

Inside the police station, they were met by Jorge Campos again.

“Buenos días,” Campos said. “How has your stay been here?”

“Wonderful, thanks,” Kelly said.

Campos shot her a glance before turning to Cal. “And for you, Señor Murphy?”

“Everyone here has been most hospitable.”

“You are traveling back tonight, no?”

“Yes, we’re leaving by boat this evening.”

“Well, I hope that you’ve found us to be more than accommodating to your requests. As you know, we care very much about how people view our country, especially U.S. citizens.”

Cal forced a smile. “Of course. You want Americans to vacation here once relations are fully relaxed.”

Campos held his index finger up. “You’re smarter than you look.” He gestured toward a small conference room off the central office space. “This way, please.”

Inside the room, Prado sat in his chair. He shifted restlessly in his seat as Cal and Kelly entered the room. They all exchanged pleasantries and sat down.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Cal said. “I want to talk about your return to Cuba. When I left you, I didn’t get the feeling you were itching to go back.”

Prado cut his eyes over toward Campos and took a deep breath. “I think it was a big misunderstanding. When those men arrived, they were there to escort me back to Cuba. At first, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay and play baseball. But I missed my family. My daughter is my whole world. I just couldn’t be away from her.”

Cal furrowed his brow. “Those men stormed the bus with guns to take you—and you ran. I think referring to them as ‘escorts’ is far too generous.”

“To-may-toe, too-mah-toe,” Prado said. “Their job was to bring me home. And ultimately, I decided to go with them on my own accord.”

“That’s not what the FBI is saying.”

Prado shrugged. “I know that people will say whatever they need to in order to keep their jobs. They let me go.”

Cal jotted down a few notes on his pad. “So, what’s life like for you now?”

“I’m still getting used to life here again.”

“Are you going to be playing baseball next season?”

Prado shot another glance toward Campos. “I hope so, but we’ll see. Right now, I’m just focusing on spending time with my daughter, Isabel, and returning to life in our beautiful country.”

Frustrated by Prado’s rehearsed answers,