Pirates

We have shut the engine down and are silently slicing through the water, using up what is left of our momentum before we are at the mercy of the sea. The sails had come down when we sighted the KOZANOSTRA at anchor some three and a half hours after we had left the marina in Puerto Barrios, Blanco handling the Morgan through some tricky winds and currents.

Lou has been very quiet. It bothers me. So far I have seen him kill a few people and he seems pretty hard when it comes to that kind of thing. But now for some reason his usual spark is not there and he is simmering on something.
"Lou... "
Silence.
"What's your bag, man?"
He turns and looks at me in the darkness with what I can only assume is that "thousand yard stare" that you heard about in regard to the soldiers in Viet Nam. I hold his stare... it is cold and vacant, unseeing.
"Lou."
He pulls back from whatever vision he is having and now is looking at me, I think. "Yeah?"
"Jesus Christ, Lou, you're freaking me out with this shit."
"I think old Bear is one of the bad guys." Lou keeps his eyes locked on mine and fishes in front of him in the cloud shrouded moonlight. He comes up with his beer and takes a long draw, finishing it and then tossing the empty overboard.
Blanco snaps his fingers to get our attention and then holds his finger up to his lips. "Shhhh... "

We can see movement up on the deck of the KOZENOSTRA. Blanco produces some field glasses and peers through them for the moment. He hands them to me and points to the boat.
"Pirates."
On the fantail of the yacht there are a couple of open runabouts with outboard engines tied to the stern cleets. Blanco speaks in low tones with his thick accent, "These Pirates they come silently in the night and board the boat while others sleep. They kill everyone and take."
"Take what?"
"Everything."
"Let me see those." Lou says, yanking the field glasses away from my eyes.
"Hey... "
"We are going to be on them quick enough. We need a plan." Lou reports as he scans the situation. He is the one with the battlefield planning skills. The fact that he is here with us now attests to his success at it.
"Wait... something is happening." Lou whispers.

On the yacht they have turned on spotlights on the stern and aimed them into the water. Even without the field glasses we can see that the pirates have grabbed one of their hostages. From our vantage point we can't see who it is, but Lou can.
"That's Antonelli. They have a rope around him. " He watches for a second, "Oh shit, they cut him."
We watch in horror as they push him off the back of the boat. Before he hits the water the scream from him being sliced open hits the Morgan, then the splash when he is already in and under water.
"They cut him?"
"On the bottom of his foot, it looked like."
"What the fuck?"
"It bleeds more, and he will have to kick it to stay afloat."

We can hear hollering from the yacht as they bring Bear to the fantail to watch the show. There is yelling from both the pirates and Bear, they want information from him and they are willing to kill his son in front of him to get it.
"We've got to do something." I take the field glasses from Lou as he scrambles down in to the cabin. I look at the magnified scene and see the fins circling the darkened water. His screaming takes on a high pitch as he is yanked down in the water momentarily. They haul him up out of the water and let him swing in the breeze for a moment. The foot is gone and he his bleeding profusely.

Bear struggles between the two men holding him. The pirates swing Antonelli back over to the boat and tie a tourniquet above the calf. Chris hangs from the rope under his arms, passed out from the pain and shock of the attack.
Lou is up on deck now, his face blackened with either shoe polish or something from the engine compartment.
"Fire us up, Whitey. Let's motor around and to the side of their anchorage and we will get off and make our way up the shoreline."
"What's the plan?" I ask him, handing him the field glasses.
"We can't get in close enough with Whitey's boat, so we might as well try from shore." He holds the field glasses up to his eyes and then sweeps the shoreline. "They are close enough to shore that we might have a better chance wading in and then swimming to the anchorage."
"Uh... sharks? What about the sharks."
"Don't be a pussy, Jake."
"I don't think worrying about sharks that just bit the foot off of an old friend makes you a pussy you crazy fucker."
"We will have to take that chance." He drops the field glasses down and looks at me... the old Lou is back.
"Why? You said yourself that Bear is one of the bad guys."
"Bear doesn't matter, Jake. These guys know we are involved. We either stop them or they stop us. Think about it."

I am down in the cabin now. Lou has some foul smelling black grease that he has wiped from somewhere in the engine compartment. I hesitate for just a moment and then wipe it on my face, neck, and arms. I am wearing a darker Grateful Dead tour shirt that should offer plenty of camoflage. I grab the Springfield Armory forty five and check the load. I had topped off the clip when we left the marina. I stuff the extra clip in my pocket and return to the deck.

Blanco has the engine running just above idle, making a couple of knots as we give the yacht a wide berth. We take a down wind course, hoping the slight engine noise we are making will be lost to the sound of the sea. The Morgan makes the point and we slip behind it, working our way up to the beach.
Lou draws his finger across his throat and motions toward the beach. Blanco cuts the engine and noses us in toward the glowing sands. The clouds have cleared, offering a moonlit night that would be the envy of any vacationer. When the Morgan grounds out on the sand, we are over the side. Lou has the diving knife in his teeth and holds the Kimber and extra clip out of the water. I do the same with my gun and clip. With a shove the Morgan is free of the island and Blanco takes her back out into deep water.

Once on the beach, we make quick work of the distance to the point and around. The KOZANOSTRA is close to shore. It is not truly at anchor, but actually has a line running to shore and tied off to a stand of Palm trees.
"Good, they tied her off rather than drop anchor." Lou says over his shoulder as we approach that spot on the beach. "They do that so they can make a quick escape by just cutting the rope rather than wait for the anchor to be hauled up and stowed."
Lou throws up a hand. He motions to a flickering light where the beach meets the jungle. We both drop and lay on the sand, our blackened appearance working against us. There is a laugh and then conversation continues around the fire. Lou motions to me and it is my understanding that we are going to approach from different directions. The last I see of Lou he has the diving knife in his teeth and is headed up the beach to the left of our friends.

I guess I took the long way around. By the time I make it to the fire, one man is already dead and Lou has the other is his grasp, one hand holding his chin, the other pulls the knife in a quick but deadly motion across the man's throat. He sets the man down without a sound and then motions quickly to me... behind me. I turn and see the knife slashing out toward my chest. I leap back, startled and not at all prepared. In an instant I have to consider the noise he may make at any moment to alert the others on the ship, how I am going to kill him without making a sound, how he may kill me. But all of this is mute when I hear the knife zip past me and lodge in his chest.
The look of surprise on his face is as wide as my own as he drops to his knees in front of me, dropping his knife and grasping the base of the diving knife. He pulls it slowly, painfully, from his chest... releasing the air from his lung in a froth of blood and foam. All I hear is a wheezing outflow from him and he falls face first into the sand.

We turn now and face the yacht at anchor. No one has been alerted to what just happened. There is movement at the stern of the ship. They have stopped the torture session for the time being. There might be time enough to slip on board unnoticed, to find out what we are up against. One thing for sure... three less to worry about.