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

a little faith that it will turn out all right—even if I’m having a hard time believing it will actually happen.”

“You know my greatest fear is getting eaten alive by a shark,” she said.

Ortega laughed. “You’ll be long dead from the effects of hypothermia—maybe twelve hours tops before you pass out and drown.”

“Don’t you have flotation devices?” Kelly asked.

Ortega shook his head. “Not enough for everyone on board. This boat is only certified for five passengers. We’re pushing the limits as it is. Just better hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Knock it off,” Cal said. He turned to Kelly. “Just ignore him. We’ll be fine.” He paused. “Do we have a first aid kit down here?”

“Why?” Ortega shot back.

“Just answer the question.”

Ortega pointed to his bench. “It’s under here.”

“I need it,” Cal said. “Can you help me out?”

Ortega grunted as he stood up. He hit his head on the low ceiling and let out a string of expletives. After a few seconds of fishing around in what appeared to be a catchall storage area, he retrieved the kit and threw it at Cal.

“Thanks,” Cal said as he headed upstairs to check on Torres.

Up top, Torres was still clutching his arm. Cal noted the red stain on Torres’s shirt had grown considerably since he first left the deck as blood was starting drip from his elbow area.

“Mind if I take a look at that for you—maybe even patch you up?” Cal asked.

Torres took his hand off the wound and blood squirted out.

“Never mind. Keep your hand tight on that. I’ll just try to wash it out and form a tourniquet for you.”

Cal went to work. He sprayed an antiseptic spray on Torres’s wound and then quickly patched him up tight with cotton balls, gauze, and an ace bandage.

“That ought to hold you for a while,” Cal said.

“Thanks,” Torres said.

Cal didn’t move.

“It’s probably safer for you below,” Torres said over the roar of the engine and the constant slapping of the water against the boat.

“In a minute,” Cal said. “I want to know why you took Prado.”

“The Cuban government pays well,” Torres said with a grin.

“So well that you had to make a return visit and do it all over again?”

Torres shrugged. “We all walk away at different times for different reasons.”

“So a big Cuban government job didn’t pay quite as well as you hoped.”

“Let’s just say I had a few bills to pay first.”

“Well, you’ll be compensated once we reach land safely—I can promise you that.”

Torres glared at him. “That wasn’t our deal. My contact said you were going to transfer the money once we reached international waters.”

“Well, you can throw me overboard if you like, but then you won’t get a single dime—and I suspect it will slow you down to do so.” Cal looked behind them at the Cuban boats that seemed to be closing, albeit not at a rate fast enough to catch them before they exited territorial waters. “And those guys trailing us haven’t slowed down yet.”

Torres shrugged. “I think you’ve got more to lose than I do. Once we reach international waters, you’re going to make good on our initial deal. Is that understood?”

Cal didn’t answer him, instead returning below deck for a moment.

A few minutes later, a bright light hit the boat and everyone lurched forward as the boat slowed.

“Please prepare to be boarded by the U.S. Coast Guard,” boomed a voice over a loud speaker.

Cal rushed up top with Ortega. He stared at the Coast Guard cutter blocking their way.

“What are you doing, Torres?” Ortega asked. “Let’s blow by these guys.”

“Do you see those guys with guns up there?” Torres said, gesturing to the half-dozen soldiers standing on the deck of the Coast Guard ship with weapons trained on them. “Do you want them shooting at us?”

“Just get us back into Cuban territory,” Ortega said. “They won’t follow us.”

Cal looked back toward Cuba and noticed the boats were still bearing down on their location. “And what? Go back and face those guys? Have you ever heard about Cuban prisons? They don’t have a saying like, ‘three squares and a cot’ over there.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ortega snapped. “I doubt you’d be going anywhere if the Coast Guard is allowed to board us. But we’re definitely going away for a long time.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah, and we’d all be put away if we go back to Cuba. So, have a little mercy, will ya?”

Torres sat there, saying nothing.

“Come on, Torres,” Ortega said. “Hurry up and make a decision before it’s made for us.”

“In times like these, we can’t think about screwing over someone else, Ortega. We have to think about ourselves. Do you honestly want to spend another day incarcerated in Cuba? One day in that holding cell was one day too many for me.”

A small vessel departed from the Cutter and slowly moved toward them. Cal shielded his eyes from the spotlight, yet he wasn’t able to determine how many were coming over and how aggressive they might be.

“What’s going on?” Kelly asked as she poked her head up out of the below-deck cabin.

“The Coast Guard is about to board us,” Cal said. “Just keep everyone calm.”

Guerrero started to talk loudly in Spanish, ranting about how if they made him go back his life would be over.

Cal stuck his head below. “Tell him to remain calm,” he said, looking at Prado and pointing at Guerrero.

Prado nodded. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know yet, but just stay down there and stay quiet.”

Arms folded, Cal stood waiting for the small vessel to connect with Torres’s speedboat. After a few seconds, it did. And Cal could see for the first time how many people were on board and what their posture was.

That’s when he noticed who it was.

“This a matter of national security and we’re part of a joint task force with the Coast Guard,” the man said. He paused for a moment before resuming. “FBI agents Waller and Hampton request to come aboard.”