Darkness: Captain Riley II (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 2) Page 7

  “And you’ve dressed up like one of them,” Riley deduced.

  “Exactly.”

  “Because you think Baby Jesus is on this ship?”

  “What? No, man! It’s just a reenactment. A Spanish tradition to give presents like Santa Claus.”

  “So you are Santa Claus?” César asked.

  “No, the piss damn hell!”

  “Pissed damsels?” Marco asked, interested.

  “What?”

  “I want myrrh!” Julie said, raising her hand. “By the way, mon chéri,” she said to her husband. “What’s myrrh?”

  “And you said you came on camel,” Carmen said skeptically.

  Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. “You know what? You can all—”

  He was cut off by a round of laughs.

  “We’re pulling your leg, my friend,” Riley said, patting his back. “I can’t believe it works every year.”

  “You’re a bunch of . . .”

  “What’s for breakfast, Jack?” Julie asked, looking in the kitchen. “Don’t tell me you made roscón!”

  “In the oven.” Jack snorted.

  “Amazing!” she shouted, walking over to the oven. She opened it, letting the smell of the cake fill the room. “Mm! I love it!”

  But when they were about to sit at the table, they heard the urgent voice of Hudgens from the door.

  “Captain!” he called.

  Riley stopped in the middle of what he was doing and went immediately to the bridge, which he reached in a few strides.

  “What’s going on?” he asked the ONI commander as he searched the horizon for threats.

  Hudgens, halfway through his shift on the bridge, held the wheel with both hands.

  “Look,” he said, tapping a black screen on the instrument panel, surrounded by switches and indicators.

  Riley looked at the sonar screen for a few seconds. A green line crossed it from left to right. “I don’t see anything.”

  Suddenly, the line broke upward in the middle of the screen with a ping.

  “There it is,” Hudgens said.

  “A submarine?” Jack asked, who, along with the rest of the crew, had followed Riley to the bridge.

  “Or a two-hundred-twenty-foot whale.”

  “But we don’t know if it’s German or not, right?” Julie said.

  “No,” Riley said, “but we should act as if it were.” Then he asked Hudgens, “Where?”

  The commander, who was really the only one familiar with the use of sonar, looked at one of the indicators in the shape of a clock next to the screen.

  “Here,” he said with his arm extended to the starboard side. “Less than a mile away.”

  Riley picked up some binoculars and held them to his face, looking in the direction Hudgens said.

  “Depth?” he asked.

  “It’s hard to say exactly,” the commander replied, “but very close to the surface. Probably periscope depth.”

  A worried murmur sounded through the bridge.

  “That’s bad?” Carmen asked in Julie’s ear.

  She nodded, upset. “That’s the depth submarines reach right before they attack.”

  They hurried to the windows and scanned the horizon for any sign of a submarine.

  “Anyone not necessary, leave the bridge immediately!” Riley ordered, annoyed at the crowd around him.

  As to be expected, no one paid any attention to him.

  The captain of the Pingarrón tutted and muttered something about the lack of authority he had over his own ship but decided to ignore it and focus on the threat facing them.

  Then César asked a relevant question. “What do we do, Captain?”

  Riley, looking at the surface of the sea, answered, “Nothing.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Nothing?” Hudgens asked.

  “Nothing that would call the attention of the submarine.”

  “Nothing that would call the attention of the submarine?” the commander parroted.

  “Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Riley asked, turning toward him.

  “There’s a submarine right in front of us, probably German, ready and waiting for us to pass in front of them so they can launch a torpedo.” He raised his voice. “And your plan is to do nothing?”

  Riley got in front of him with an unpleasant look on his face. “Are you questioning my authority?”

  Hudgens straightened to his full height. His giant body left him six inches taller and about that many wider than the captain. “I’m questioning your decision.”

  Riley didn’t step back. He got closer to the man and looked up into his eyes. “My ship. My crew. My orders. If you disagree you can leave the bridge right now.”

  Hudgens looked around for a sympathetic face among the crew, but a brief glance was all he needed to know whose side they were on. They clearly had blind faith in their captain.

  Finally the soldier lowered his head. “My apologies, Captain,” he said. “I’m at your orders.”

  For a moment Riley seemed to consider sending him to his cabin.

  “I accept your apology,” he said coldly. “Man the sonar and keep us informed of the position and depth of the sub. Julie”—he turned toward his pilot—“take the wheel and maintain speed and distance. And César,” he added, “you watch the machine room and be ready if we need extra power.”

  “Going,” César replied, heading down the stairs.

  “Carmen and Marco,” he added. “You two take water and food packets to the port skiff, making sure the sub can’t see you. Be ready in case we have to launch it quickly.”

  With the slightest nod Marco and Carmen headed for the bow.

  “Jack!” he shouted. The Galician had gone to the bridge balcony and was scrutinizing the horizon with binoculars.

  “What?” he asked, turning.

  In his turban and regal beard, with the wind whipping his cape and tunic, Jack seemed like a sheik guarding his land—an echo of the Arabs who still traveled from Arabia to Zanzibar in their dhows in search of spices.

  Maybe not so bad if they seem him from the sub, he thought, imaging the confusion of the German captain.

  “Nothing,” he said finally. “You see something?”

  Jack just shook his head, looking unsettled.

  “Position and distance?” he asked Hudgens.

  “Marker fifty, three-quarters of a mile.”

  Jack stepped into the bridge.

  “It’s still under,” he said, though no one asked him.

  “We’re flying the Spanish flag,” Julie reminded him. “Shouldn’t we be safe since we’re a neutral country?”

  “A flag is just a string of colors, Julie,” Riley muttered, returning the binoculars to his face. “They’re definitely deciding if it’s worth it to use one of their torpedoes and reveal their position in exchange for sinking a little junker like us.”

  “Want me to go to the roof and prepare the . . .” Jack made a pistol motion with his hand.

  “Wait, not yet.”

  “Permission to speak, Captain,” Hudgens asked.

  Riley took the binoculars from his face. “Go ahead.”

  “If we go full speed at the sub it won’t be able to launch its torpedoes accurately and will probably have to go under. We’ll take them by surprise.”

  “Possibly,” Riley said, looking out again.

  Hudgens waited until he realized Riley wasn’t going to add anything else. “But you don’t want to . . .”

  “No,” Riley said.

  “May I ask why?”

  Riley tutted with disdain like a father tired of answering a child’s question for the fourth time.

  “Okay,” he said, turning toward him. “Let’s say we rush them like a ram and avoid being hit by one of their torpedoes. Then what? They’ll immediately turn around and chase us.”

  “But the Pingarrón is faster than a sub. We’ll leave them behind.”

  “Sure, but I don’t want a German U-
boat tailing us.” He turned to Jack and Julie and added, “Not an experience we want to have again, right?”

  “I disagree, Captain. I think you’re committing a serious mistake,” Hudgens insisted.

  “I’ll take your opinion into account.”

  “But,” Hudgens said.

  “No buts,” Riley said impatiently. “I’m not going to put my crew at risk unnecessarily. End of discussion.” He immediately added, “Sonar report.”

  The commander bit his tongue, turning his attention once again the machine.

  “Marker seventy. Eight hundred yards.”

  “If they’re going to shoot us they’ll do it now,” Jack said tensely.

  The four turned in the same direction, looking for any bubbles that could reveal the path of a torpedo.

  A tense silence came over the bridge, broken only by the dull rumbling of the engines.

  “Bearing sixty. Six hundred yards.”

  “Fuck,” Jack murmured. “They’re right there.”

  No one moved a muscle.

  “Be ready,” Riley said.

  “Marker eighty. Five hundred yards.”

  “They’re just perpendicular to us, Capitaine. If they shoot now, we can’t—”

  “I know . . . Cross your fingers.”

  The seconds felt like minutes.

  The tension caused pearls of sweat to rise on their anxious faces.

  They imagined a half-ton torpedo hitting the side of the ship, making them fly apart in a thousand pieces amid a ball of flame.

  The hand of the bridge clock changed, and its click was like a loud knock on the door.

  The four held their breath.

  “Marker ninety-five. Five hundred fifty yards,” Hudgens said with indescribable relief. “We’re leaving them behind.”

  A collective sigh settled over the bridge. Julie let herself collapse on the wheel.

  “That’s that,” Riley said, letting out the air that had built up in his lungs. “If they’d wanted to attack us they’d have done it.”

  “Shit, how tense,” Jack blurted, leaning on the doorframe. “I thought I was gonna have to change my short—”

  “Capitaine!” Julie shouted, pointing forward. “Look!”

  With his heart in a knot, Riley went up to the windows, expecting to see a depressing storm of bubbles heading directly for the bow of the Pingarrón.

  “Not there!” Julie said, pointing to the horizon. “There! Far away!”

  Riley moved his amber gaze from the calm surface of the sea to the perfect line marking the start of the clear blue sky, where a thin strip of dark clouds seemed to threaten from afar.

  But they weren’t clouds.

  “Land!” Julie shouted. “Land in sight!”

  Riley’s heartbeat slowed immediately, replaced by a wave of satisfaction for having followed the route precisely—something that was hard to do on a first transoceanic voyage.

  He breathed in deeply, letting a big smile come over his face.

  “The islands of Cape Verde,” he announced, turning to the others. “Welcome to Africa.”

  9

  Knocks were heard on the cabin door. “Come in,” Riley said without taking his eyes from the book in his hands.

  The door opened and Hudgens appeared. Riley was sitting in a chair by the desk while Jack watched the landscape pass by through the porthole.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Please,” Riley answered, inviting him in.

  The ONI commander came in and shut the door behind him.

  Riley’s cabin was as shabby as the rest of the ship. Though they’d spent ten days of the journey on repairs, cleaning, and painting, the consequences of that terrible fire still appeared wherever one looked. The attempt to make the Pingarrón a hospitable place with furniture acquired in a rush somehow did nothing but exacerbate things. Not even Carmen and Julie’s feminine touches or the small pile of books gathered on the edge of the desk like frightened children could bring back its old welcoming appearance.

  “Why did you want to see me?” Hudgens asked, sitting in the only seat available.

  Riley waited a few seconds before folding the page of the book he was reading and setting it on the table.

  “Commander,” he said, leaning forward. “What happened on the bridge this morning cannot happen again.”

  Hudgens nodded. “I know.”

  “This is an unusual situation, and despite your military rank, on this ship I am the ultimate authority, and you are under my command. In emergency situations I’m open to suggestions but not debates. An argument at a time like that could cost all of us our lives. Understand?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “No buts.”

  Hudgens glanced at Jack, who, with his back turned, appeared not to be listening. He didn’t seem at all pleased the Galician was there while Riley was dressing him down.

  “Understood,” he said, though his tough tone intimated otherwise.

  Riley thought about adding more, but it seemed everything was clear enough. “Well, good,” he replied. “Were you able to make contact with the British commanding officer?”

  Hudgens nodded. “Captain March-Phillipps is in Nigeria making preparations to leave on the tenth for Fernando Póo. He confirmed there will be two tugboats to take the three ships to the edge of Spanish jurisdiction, where they’ll be met by the Royal Navy corvette HMS Violet, which will escort them to Lagos.”

  “The Spanish are going to be mad.”

  Hudgens shrugged his shoulders. “The British plan on claiming they found the ships lost in the open sea and only wanted to help them get to port. To their port, yes.”

  “Let me revise that. They’re going to be very mad,” he sighed. “If there’s one thing that angers a Spaniard, it’s trying to pull the wool over their eyes.”

  “It’s the plan designed by the SOE,” Hudgens said. “All we have to do is adapt to it.”

  “I know, but the stupid thing is having us rush to Santa Isabel that very night. I don’t want to be there when the colonial authorities put two and two together and end up associating us with the theft.”

  “I agree, Captain.”

  “Anyway,” Riley said, running out of patience. “We still have a week to flesh out the details. Keep me updated on anything new.”

  “Of course,” Hudgens said, standing up. “I’ll let myself out,” he added as he turned and left.

  The door latch clicked behind him.

  “What do you think?” Riley asked, looking at the door.

  “That it’s a shitty plan and I hope not to be up to my ears in it,” Jack answered, breaking his uncharacteristic silence.

  Riley nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not talking about that. I’m asking about Hudgens.”

  Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure. He seems like a good guy.”

  Riley turned in his chair. “But . . .”

  “But he’ll cause problems.”

  “That I’m sure of.”

  “And I don’t know that we’re doing the right thing,” Jack said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack walked around the table and settled his large body into the free chair.

  “When we got on that ship in Barcelona to leave Spain after fighting two years in the International Brigades, we promised to never join an army or take orders from anyone again. Remember? That’s why we became smugglers.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “What are we doing, Alex?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “This is clearly a military operation and as soon as we touch land we’ll be under the orders of our ONI friend or a bloody English major we don’t know—who wouldn’t think twice about fucking us over if it gave him some benefit.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. And you do too. They’ll call it an unfortunate necessity, collateral damage, or whatever the hell else for style, but the fact is they’ll screw us without hesitating.”

 
; Riley seemed to think over his friend’s words like someone chewing gum that’d lost its flavor but who wasn’t ready to spit it out. “Whatever the case, we can’t do anything now,” he said finally. “We’re already in the middle of the operation and we can’t back out.”

  “You asked me what I thought, and I answered,” Jack said, leaning back in his char. “I know we can’t forfeit the match but that doesn’t mean I like the game.”

  Riley nodded. “I have my doubts too,” he admitted. “There are definitely too many question marks floating around. But our role shouldn’t be too risky. We have to pretend to be tradesmen, put on a good show, and leave that very night like we were never there.”

  “Well, what really bothers me is the other part of the job.” Jack glanced at the door. “Having to spy on the English to see why they’re so interested in the ship.”

  “On the contrary, my friend.” Riley smiled mischievously. “Messing with the English will be the best part.”

  When Riley relieved Julie at the wheel a few hours later, the dark green mass of Santo Antão slid through the windows, five miles off the port side. It looked like a sturdy castle as imagined by a madman.

  “Any news, Juju?”

  “None, Capitaine. We’re still on course at one-one-two, speed of seventeen knots with a bow wind.”

  “Very good,” Riley said, studying the marine chart spread out in front of him. “Tonight we’ll have left behind the islands of Cape Verde and tomorrow we’ll reach the coast of Gambia.”

  “We’re not going to stop to restock?” she asked. “The pantry’s a bit empty.”

  Riley shook his head. “If we want to get to Santa Isabel within six days we can’t waste any time. We’ll have to make do with canned food. I’m sorry.”

  Julie shrugged. “Pas de problème.” She scrunched her nose. “But I don’t think Jack will take it so well. You know how he is with food. Since yesterday he’s been complaining we don’t have meat or fresh vegetables.”

  “Well, he’ll have to manage.”

  “You didn’t get what I’m saying, Capitaine. We’re the ones who’ll have to manage him. When he doesn’t eat well he gets in a horrible mood. And . . . you know.” Julie raised an eyebrow, but the hint was completely lost on Riley.