"Silence!" Bardales roared, cutting me off. The guard's rifle butt connected with my kidney a half a second later, and dropped me to my knees, pain racing through my body.
One of these days I'm going to learn to keep my mouth shut.
Jaye hung her head in embarrassed defeat and shook it back and forth in disbelief. She was muttering something under her breath. Probably cursing me for being the idiot I am. That was OK, my makeshift plan was working. At least I hoped it was. If he didn't kill us outright, it was a win in my book.
The silver haired general turned to one of his men, whispered some words and went back into the cabin of the patrol boat. A moment later there was a flurry of words and before I knew what was happening I was being manhandled off of Paramour and onto the patrol boat. They dragged me to the stern, where Jaye and I were both forced to our knees.
"Way to go, slick," she said.
"Silencio!" Commanded one of the soldiers. "No hablar."
Doing my best to ignore the soldier and the weapon he had pointed at us, I turned my attention towards Paramour, which was now starting to drift away from us. Her sails were up, flapping noisily in the breeze. She looked forlorn and shabby bobbing on the waves.
Moments later the engines of the patrol boat spooled up, and it headed towards shore, picking up speed with each passing second. Craning my neck around, I watched my boat and home shrink into the distance, unsure if I would ever see her again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Cuban patrol boat covered the distance back to Boca Sucia in less than a quarter of the time it had taken Paramour. The soldiers had all remained stiff and alert, in that manner only military training could instill. One man drove the boat, while another manned the deck gun on the bow. The third kept vigilance over Jaye and me. They all had a job, except the last soldier who remained behind Bardales' shoulder like a dog waiting on a treat from its master. I assumed he must have been the normal commander of the vessel.
Bardales never turned to address us, but his body language was easy enough to read. Rigid and focused, he was obviously forcing himself to appear stoic and in control. I needed to know my enemy and regretted, not for the first time since meeting him, that I hadn't been able to read a dossier on the man.
He was used to power, anyone could tell that. His knowledge of Pruitt, along with the behavior of the soldiers, was enough to tell me that being within his sphere was dangerous. Both in the village and on the patrol boat I had seen his subordinates jump at his every command. But what I had not seen from any of the soldiers was any initiative. Bardales' fear based leadership was his weakness. His men were afraid to act on their own and bring the wrath of his displeasure down on them. That was good. Without explicit orders, they would hesitate. That was something I could work with.
A pair of military trucks were waiting for us at the marina when we arrived. Leading them was the odd Jeep-like vehicle that seemed to act as the general's transport. As soon as the boat hit the dock, the soldiers shuffled both of us over the side. They ushered us up the shiny new ramp towards half a dozen waiting troops who, along with the men from the boat, made a loose circle around us.
The general followed behind us and addressed his men when he reached the top of the ramp. Again, he spoke so fast my mediocre Spanish skills were not up to interpreting. After his brief monologue, he turned and strode towards his vehicle, where a waiting soldier held an open door for him.
As soon as Bardales was seated, the rest of the soldiers split into two groups. One latched on to Jaye's arm and pulled her towards the lead truck. Another dragged me to the rear one. I opened my mouth to protest, and a fist connected with my jaw. My head snapped sideways and my vision clouded. I shook the ringing from my ears and spat. The metallic taste of blood was already seeping through my mouth, and I tongued a cut on the inside of my cheek. I didn't talk again and offered no resistance to the soldiers who loaded me into the back of the truck.
One soldier, a little older than the others, climbed in after me and pointed toward the front of the truck bed. Hoping to avoid another smack, I took the hint and sat as close to the cab as possible. Two other men climbed up into the bed with me and took their seats, each eying me with suspicion.
Moments later, the trucks began to roll, bouncing and jerking their way down the gravel lot onto the rutted dirt road leading towards the village. The air in the back of the truck was stifling. Its dark canvas cover offered shade and cave-like darkness. But it came at the cost of increased temperatures and a sense of claustrophobia. The tight confines were made worse by the foul stench of body odor emanating from the three soldiers.
Trying not to focus on the heat or the smell, I gazed out of the opening at the back. Trees and bushes slid by in a never ending procession of tropical greenery. My eyes were glazing over from the repetition when the landscape changed. Instead of bushes and trees, it opened up into a large swath of tall grass. The airfield, I realized.
Seconds later I could make out Jaye's green and white plane, still grounded and lined up
