Darkness: Captain Riley II (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 2) Page 3

  They entered a small room that held a desk and chair for a guard. The desk was overshadowed by a big poster showing a snake and warning of danger from saboteurs, urging Americans to stay alert.

  The sentry searched Riley and carefully explored Carmen’s bag.

  “If you’re looking for explosives,” she said, “I keep them in the other bag.”

  He stared at her humorlessly and gave it back brusquely, then nodded for them to proceed.

  After they went through the second door, Carmen was still reorganizing the inside of her small bag and murmuring something about military paranoia, so she didn’t look up until she realized Alex had stopped next to her.

  At first she didn’t know what she was seeing.

  At arm’s length was a steel wall six or seven yards high, the lower half painted deep red and the top half black. A scaffold ran along it with dozens of workers painting, hammering, driving rivets, or welding and cutting through clouds of sparks.

  “What is this?” Carmen asked.

  “You don’t recognize it?” Alex countered.

  “It seems familiar,” she said, looking up and down. “But . . .”

  “Maybe you should take a few steps back.”

  Curious, she did.

  She then realized that the wall was not a wall, but the hull of a ship, about fifty yards long. On the back third rose a superstructure with two partially burnt decks that housed what had been the bridge and the remnants of a smokestack.

  “I can’t believe it!” she shouted, eyes wide. “It’s your ship! It’s the Pingarrón!”

  3

  Braced on the dry dock by large wooden logs and surrounded by scaffolds, the Pingarrón rose up like a steel leviathan trapped in a metallic spiderweb.

  It had only been sixteen days ago when Carmen, along with the rest of the crew, had had to abandon the Pingarrón on the high seas, thinking her lost. And now she stood before the ship—lit by rays of sunlight that came through the skylight and surrounded by dense clouds of smoke and dust.

  “Since when . . . ?” She turned to Riley. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” he said, clearly satisfied to see it had worked. “We’ve had her since Sunday and haven’t stopped working on repairs since. It’s incredible what we’ve been able to accomplish in so little time.”

  “I see,” Carmen said, looking admiringly at the absence of twenty millimeter holes that had spread across the hull and turned the Pingarrón into a kind of Swiss cheese. “But she still shows signs of the fire,” she said, pointing at the charred areas. “Looks like someone tried to grill it.”

  “That’s the last thing we’ll fix,” he explained. “The priority was repairing the bow, which was destroyed on impact, sealing the holes, and rebuilding the bridge. Come with me,” he added, climbing stairs that went up the side. “It looks much better from above.”

  Carmen followed Riley to the deck, where César Moreira and Marco Marovic were busily taking apart the engine of the cargo crane.

  “How’s everything going here, fellas?” Riley asked as he got closer.

  The two men turned, both wearing greasy coveralls and looking tired, but that’s where the similarities ended.

  César Moreira, the Pingarrón’s mechanic, was a skinny Portuguese mulatto of Angolan descent with a melancholy demeanor who had an innate ability to repair anything man-made, even if he’d never laid eyes on it before.

  Marco Marovic, on the other hand, was a Serbian Chetnik nearly six-five with the look of a boxer and a brain not quite as bright as a smuggling launch. He had an innate ability to destroy anything man-made, even if he’d never laid eyes on it before.

  The two had been members of the Pingarrón’s small crew for more than a year—and were a good part of the reason Hitler wasn’t marching in Times Square.

  “Morning, Captain,” César said, wiping his hand on his coveralls before offering it to Riley. “Carmen,” he added with a slight nod, which was returned with a friendly smile.

  “Hi, César,” Riley answered, reaching out his hand and taking a look at what they were doing. “Can you repair it or do we need a new motor?”

  “No need. We just have to change a couple of gears and it’ll be good to go.”

  “Wonderful. We’ve already made too many changes to the ship. By the way, is Jack around?”

  “I think he’s on the bridge with my wife,” César said, moving his head in that direction. “Installing another one of your toys.”

  “Great,” Riley said with a nod. “You need anything? Remember, we have access to anything in the shipyard depots.”

  “Can I get another helper?” he said, pointing at Marco with his thumb. “A better conversationalist maybe.”

  Marco grunted what could have been one of many insults in Serbian.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Riley assured him, adding, “though the truth is, I’d rather you kept him busy. Less trouble for us.”

  César shrugged and went back to work, tugging on Marco to follow.

  “That man disgusts me,” Carmen said. “I don’t understand how you still trust him.”

  “Trust him? Not at all. But sometimes it’s very useful to have someone like that on the team. And don’t forget he saved both our lives.”

  Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Because he tried to rob and kill us himself.”

  “I don’t meddle with other people’s motives.”

  Carmen gave him a bored look and dropped it. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought it up, sick of leers and jeers from the Serb.

  Riley headed for the superstructure and climbed the little side staircase that went to the bridge on the second deck. They’d replaced the old wooden casemate with a solid steel structure that featured large reinforced glass windows.

  When he opened the access hatch, he found Julie messing with a tangle of colored wires.

  Riley squatted down next to her. “Figure it out?” he asked.

  She lifted her head, and a bright smile widened on her face. “Bonjour, Capitaine!” she said enthusiastically. “And you, Carmen! So good to see you here. You look gorgeous!”

  From anyone else such words may have sounded like sarcasm or veiled criticism, but not so with Julie. To the surprise of those who didn’t know her, she was the pilot of the Pingarrón and had the full confidence of Riley, who had seen her prove her extraordinary ability and calm navigating the ship in the worst circumstances. Further, her constant cheer was a breath of fresh air everyone was grateful for during the long journeys on that narrow ship.

  Carmen gave her a wink. “Thanks, Julie. You’re gorgeous too.”

  Julie feigned a scowl. “Don’t joke. In these coveralls I look like a man with tits.”

  “That way you don’t distract the crew with your charms,” Carmen said.

  “Is that the sonar console?” Riley asked.

  “Yup. Almost ready.”

  Carmen looked confused. “What’s sonar?”

  “It’s a technology, still in an experimental phase,” Riley explained. “If it works as expected, we’ll be able to use sound waves to detect a submarine many miles away through echolocation.”

  “Got it.”

  Riley look at her skeptically. “Really?”

  “Of course,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s what bats use to fly in the dark, no?”

  “Uh . . . well, yes. Exactly that.”

  “Interesting, Capitaine,” Julie said with a smile. “You didn’t know how it worked just an hour—”

  “Right, well, enough chitchat,” Riley interrupted. “Know where Jack is? I’m looking for him.”

  “I think he’s up there.” She pointed at the roof. “In the smokestack.”

  “Thanks,” he said, moving toward the hatch that led to the common area. When he turned the handle, Julie asked in a concerned tone, “You’re going to the meeting, right?”

  Riley turned halfway back. “Yes. It’s less than an hour away. When we�
��re done, we’ll come right back here to update you on everything.”

  “Got it . . .”

  Riley knew his pilot well enough to hear her anxiety. “Don’t worry,” he said with a calm smile. “I promise I won’t accept any mission that isn’t absolutely clear.”

  “Merci, Capitaine.”

  Then Riley left the bridge, followed closely by Carmen, who murmured loudly, “So more than an hour . . .”

  The common room took up nearly the entire second level of the superstructure. It was an open space containing plenty of room for relaxing, in addition to the kitchen and its storeroom, the large dining room table, and the map table. Or more precisely, that’s what should have been there. At that moment it was nothing more than an empty 430-square-foot compartment that still showed signs of the fire that nearly destroyed the ship.

  Carmen couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness to see it in that state.

  “We’ve cleaned up the debris and repaired the windows and holes,” Riley said, reading her mind. “Tomorrow we’ll start to polish and paint and furnish it just how it was. It’ll be better than before.”

  Carmen caught a hint of melancholy in Alex’s voice but decided not to say anything. Although he tried to hide it, a lot of memories had been charred between those walls. “I’m sure,” she agreed, taking his hand.

  Riley turned toward her and softly kissed her on the lips. They walked together toward the rear hatch that led to the outside, then climbed the steep ladder up to the roof of the superstructure, where they found Jack, screwing a kind of gyrating platform, two yards in diameter, right in the place where the old smokestack was.

  “I finally found you,” Riley said as he approached.

  Jack dropped the wrench and stood up heavily, making his large body apparent. Though significantly shorter than Riley, the man probably weighed 250 pounds. Those who’d seen him in action knew that anyone who judged the ex-chef by the circumference of his waist would be unpleasantly surprised.

  The Pingarrón’s second-in-command was a clever Galician with a biting sense of humor. But he was also a valiant and dedicated man, absurdly loyal to his friends and as stubborn as he was honest—qualities that were rarely found in the same person.

  Perhaps that’s why Jack had been a dear friend to Riley ever since they fought together as brigadiers during the Spanish Civil War. They’d saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion.

  “Man!” Jack shouted, opening his arms. “What a sight!”

  “Don’t exaggerate, I was here yesterday,” Riley said.

  “I said it for her,” Jack said, leaning toward Carmen. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

  “I’ve been buried in paperwork,” she said, giving him a friendly kiss on his bearded cheek. “Bureaucrats aren’t too comfortable with people who arrive in a country without documents or a passport. But what about you?” Carmen took in the ship once again. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  Jack offered her a tired smile. “Did you see the present we got from Santa Claus?” he asked, gesturing toward the shipyard.

  Carmen glanced at the faraway ground. “The Pingarrón looks much bigger from up here than it does in the water.”

  “How’s it going with this?” Riley said, crouching next to the platform Jack was attaching.

  “Pretty good. I have to admit that whenever I ask for something they give it to me immediately—no questions asked. Just this morning,” he said, patting the platform, which started to turn on its axis, “they brought us the modified smokestack and five-pound cucumber.”

  “Five-pound cucumber?” Carmen asked, imagining the size of the vegetable.

  The two men smiled. “Jack is referring to a little five-pound cannon we’re going to install up here, hidden in the hollow part of the smokestack.”

  Carmen’s confused look didn’t subside, just the opposite. “I thought you were against arming the Pingarrón. What happened to ‘we’re smugglers, not soldiers’?”

  The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we’re not smugglers anymore, remember? We work for US naval intelligence and should be prepared for any contingency.”

  “Like attacking other ships.”

  Riley shook his head. “Like defending ourselves if necessary. Until now, if things got ugly we put distance between ourselves and the problem. That’s a luxury we can’t afford anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean a lot of lives could depend on any given mission, and if we accept it we should be ready to succeed at any price.”

  “At any price?” Carmen repeated slowly. “I’m not sure I want to pay so much.”

  Riley looked at her awhile before answering. “It’s up to you . . . as you know.”

  In her eyes, Riley could see the battle between the ferociously independent woman she was and the part of her that wanted to stay beside him.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Not to ruin the moment, but don’t we have to go to the meeting with ONI?”

  Riley let the tense silence linger a few more seconds, then looked at his watch. “That’s right. Go change and we’ll meet you at the exit.” Turning to Carmen with a serious look, he added, “This woman and I have a couple things to discuss in the meantime.”

  4

  Twenty minutes later a gray 1941 Chevrolet sedan with “US NAVY” painted on the front doors drove quickly down Suitland Parkway heading southeast.

  Inside, Carmen, Jack, and Riley stayed silent as they looked distractedly out the windows at the extensive field of smooth, tended hills and a large park dotted with beautiful cedars, walnuts, and oaks that looked deceptively like a golf course but revealed its true purpose when one saw the thousands of white marble gravestones stretching as far as the eye could see.

  Alex Riley couldn’t help but think that in the coming years they’d have to build many more cemeteries like this one.

  After a few moments they left behind the Washington National Cemetery, and a couple miles farther on they reached a side street where a simple poster marked the Suitland Federal Center.

  The chauffeur turned and headed toward a large building under construction. It was five stories tall and besieged by an army of workers carrying planks and bags of cement, perched on the beams, or operating bulldozers.

  “Nice mess they’ve built here,” Jack said from the front seat.

  “Now that the war’s started,” the corporal who served as their driver said, “they want to finish it quick.”

  “Are you sure the meeting’s here?” Jack asked, turning in his seat.

  “National Maritime Intelligence Center. West wing. Meeting room three, twenty-fourth of December, noon,” Riley answered, rereading the note an official had given him the day before.

  “It’s here,” the corporal said. “The west wing is already finished and in use. I’ll let you out at that door.” The Chevrolet stopped smoothly on the gravel, just in front of the stairs to the entrance.

  “End of the road,” the driver murmured, activating the hand brake and looking at Riley in the rearview mirror. “I’ll wait right here to take you all back to the city.”

  Riley thanked him with a slight nod and got out of the vehicle, followed by Carmen and Jack.

  They showed their credentials to the officer on guard duty, and after a minute a sergeant appeared and guided them through a labyrinth of hallways until they reached a wooden door marked “3.”

  “Go ahead and have a seat, please,” the officer said, opening the door to reveal a meeting room with an oval table in the center, a dozen empty chairs, a large flag in a corner, and a photo of Franklin Roosevelt on the far wall. “I’ll give notice that you’ve arrived.”

  “Thank you,” the three answered in unison, entering the room whose door closed behind them with a click followed by the sound of a latch.

  Jack turned around immediately and tried to turn the handle. “Bastards,” he blurted out. “They locked us in.”

  Riley shrugged. “Must be a protocol
for visitors, Jack. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Visitors?” he grumbled. “I thought we worked together.”

  “Come and sit with me,” Carmen said, seating herself and tapping the dark wood of the table. “Tell me what’s going on with Elsa while we wait.”

  Jack sighed and frowned, but he did what she asked and put his large body in the wooden chair next to hers.

  “Honestly, there isn’t much to tell,” he said. “She told me she needs time to think. That there’ve been too many changes in her life and she needs to absorb them before she adds another.”

  “Logical.”

  “Yeah. Well, maybe. But about a week ago she disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “She’s not in her hotel. Even though I checked the room with her name. I called, and when she didn’t answer I went there myself. The receptionist told me Elsa had left some days back with a navy officer and hasn’t returned.”

  “How’s that possible?” Carmen asked, turning to Riley. “Do you know something?”

  Riley, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shook his head.

  “Nothing at all,” he said. “Although I suspect the person we’re about to meet with could tell us if—”

  Just then the door opened, and the official who had arranged the meeting appeared with a leather suitcase and map roll under his arm.

  “Speak of the devil,” Riley murmured, standing straight and extending his hand. “Commander Hudgens,” he said.

  “Captain Riley,” the man answered, also extending his hand.

  Despite being almost six feet tall and weighing 185, Riley was diminished by the muscular heft of the commander. A giant with a bull neck and hands like mallets, Hudgens had supposedly rejected a sweet contract with the New York Giants to join the Office of Naval Intelligence.

  He gave a brief greeting to Jack and looked at Carmen with surprise, but before he could say anything, the two other participants appeared. The first, a man of about sixty wearing a tweed jacket and a colorful bow tie that contrasted with his suspicious gaze, eyed Riley with curiosity.

  “Captain,” Hudgens said politely. “I’d like to introduce Senator McMillan, a personal adviser to President Roosevelt.”