Apocalyptic Pirates 5, page 14
“We’ve been ordered to use speed,” Sergeant Rodriguez explained.
“And what if the dragons come out?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Our sources suggest that the dragons are most active during the daylight hours,” he replied. “Given that, and the fact that we are all armed, it was calculated that the speed was worth the risk.”
I wasn’t sure that I would enjoy having someone making that decision on my behalf. But I guessed that was one reason why I wasn’t in the military.
I glanced around at the rest of the men in the boat. There were six of them in total, including the sergeant and the man at the wheel. They were all wearing the same camouflage combat outfits, and they were all brandishing some serious firepower. Shannon would probably have known the exact make and model of the guns they were toting, but even I could tell that these were some very modern assault rifles on display.
One of the men met my gaze and looked away quickly before darting his eyes back to mine. He gave me the tiniest smile before turning back to face the front.
I hoped that was a good sign.
I eyed the sergeant warily. I could hear Shannon’s voice in my head explaining that he might not be aware of the full details of the mission that he’d been recruited for. I was burning to press him for more information, but it would be pointless if he genuinely had no idea what the details of this mission were.
I didn’t like sitting in a dark boat with a half-dozen armed, unfamiliar men who were following orders that I had no way of discovering.
I just had to sit tight and keep my wits about me.
Well, I could do that for sure, no problem.
And I could start by finding out some more information about the company I was in.
“You said your orders came from the Commissioner of Police,” I said. “But you guys look like military personnel to me.”
“Panama no longer has a standing army.” Sergeant Rodriguez spoke the words in a very measured, calm tone, almost as though he expected me to counter him on this and was bracing himself for an angry retort. “Instead we have the Panamanian Public Forces, which comprises the Panamanian National Police, the National Aeronaval Service, and the National Border Service. We report to the Ministry of Public Security.”
“You guys don’t have an army?” I hadn’t expected that.
“Not anymore,” he replied. “But we still have a paramilitary security force that maintains national security.”
“And your orders are from the head of the Panamanian National Police?” I pressed.
“Yes.” Sergeant Rodriguez nodded in confirmation. “Director General Hernandez reports directly to the Minister of Public Security, who in turn reports to the President.”
Whoa. I hadn’t expected that this would lead to such high-up positions in the Panamanian government.
What the hell was going on here? Why the hell did the Director General want to talk to me? Why the hell did he care about saving me and my crew from the tender mercies of the outraged Coast Guard?
I chewed over these questions in my mind, but there were no easy answers that I could find. I would just have to wait and see what was waiting for me at the end of this journey.
The boat sped along the Canal. It was such a small and fast-moving vessel that within an hour, we’d started to leave the forest behind. I began to make out the shapes of houses and buildings on either side of the Canal, and up ahead I could see what looked like a road, but there were no lights on, and the whole stretch of land looked completely deserted.
It was too dark to see if there was any damage from dragon attacks, but the dead silence and all-encompassing darkness made me think that if there were survivors living along here, they were keeping things as low-key as possible in order to avoid detection.
I saw what looked like a pier up ahead, and the boat veered toward the shore. It was a dock, lit by a single, flickering lantern, and when the boat drew up there, I could see that the wooden structure was rickety as hell. It was a wonder that it was still all in one piece.
I would bet that this was not the official welcome given to visiting dignitaries, and I kept a white-knuckled grip on my rifle as the boat’s engine cut off, and we all disembarked via the shoddy little dock.
The old boards sagged and creaked under my feet. I looked around and saw the black water of the Canal gleaming like steel in the dull, unsteady light of the dock lantern. The sky above was dark and heavy with the stars hidden behind heavy clouds. The place where we’d landed seemed to have been picked completely at random, and the dock itself was little more than a few planks of wood extending out into the water.
I wondered if this was genuinely an old dock that had been chosen for this purpose because it looked so run-down a casual observer would assume it had fallen out of use long ago. Or maybe it had been custom built for the mission, and just doctored so that it would look inconspicuous.
Jesus, I was getting paranoid.
Though I wasn’t sure anyone would blame me for it. Not too long ago, I’d been a liquor salesman schmoozing rich businessmen into buying cases of expensive whiskey. Now I was being picked up in the middle of the night by the Panamanian Public Forces, whizzed down the Panama Canal to some secret, shady-looking location, and expected to meet some high-up commissioner about who knew what.
“This way.” Sergeant Rodriguez gestured to me to follow him and the other soldiers off the dock where there was a fancy-looking long black car waiting for us.
I hadn’t been in a car for so long that I had to hold back a smile as we approached the vehicle. Once this would have been as familiar as breathing, but now it was boats that felt like home to me.
The sergeant held the back door open for me, and I slid inside and planted my ass on some seriously fine leather seats. A soft overhead light clicked on, and the soldiers piled into the car and sat in the middle seats in front of me. The sergeant took the seat next to me. The doors closed, and the car engine purred into life as the driver pulled away from the dock.
The car windows were tinted, so I couldn’t have looked out at my surroundings even if it hadn’t been the middle of the night.
“Drink?” the sergeant offered.
He pressed a button, and a little compartment door sprang open in the back of the seat in front of me to reveal a tiny compact mini fridge that was stocked with little bottles of soda.
“Uh, no thanks,” I said. “I’m good.”
Sergeant Rodriguez nodded, pressed the button again, and the fridge doors silently closed again.
Part of me would have killed for an ice-cold Coke, but I wasn’t about to accept food or drink from these people until I knew for sure what their plan was. It was unlikely that after an hour-long boat ride during which they would have had ample opportunities to try and overpower me, they would then resort to drugging a tiny bottle of soda.
But still, you never knew.
Okay, maybe I really was being paranoid.
I was glad Dia and Shannon weren’t here to witness my thoughts. They would never let me hear the end of this if they found out.
I was trying not to think about the women too much, because if I let myself fall down that rabbit hole, I knew there was a good chance that I would end up just being consumed with worry about how they were doing.
They had their guns, I reminded myself. Even if the others were still improving with the rifles, Shannon was a crack shot, and there was no way she’d let anything bad happen to the others. And they all had handled themselves amazingly well in the past. If they weren’t using knives and spears, it was frying pans and kettles of boiling water.
They would be fine, I told myself in the firmest way I could manage. I needed to compartmentalize their safety with my own, otherwise I might end up being the one who needed help.
My fingers tightened around my rifle. My free hand lightly touched the knife hanging at my belt.
I had my weapons, and I had my wits, and I wasn’t going to take any shit from these guys, no matter how big their guns were.
The car ride was smooth, but without even scenery to look at, the journey seemed to take even longer than the boat ride down the Canal. It was hard to keep track of the time, but it had to have been less than an hour before the car turned and slowed to a stop.
I peered out of the window, but all I could see was darkness.
“This way, sir.” Sergeant Rodriguez climbed out of the car and waited for me to follow him.
We were in an underground parking lot. I looked around quickly as I tried to notice any remarkable features about where we might be, but it was just a parking lot– emptier than it would have been before the apocalypse, but still surprisingly full of cars.
“This way.” The sergeant directed me toward an elevator set in the wall.
I stepped in. The sergeant followed. The elevator doors closed.
The elevator was like the car, surprisingly luxurious. The walls were made of a terracotta-colored marble, and the rail and buttons were all decked out in gold trim. The back wall was mirrored, and I caught a glimpse of my face as I stepped in. My face was pale from lack of sleep, my hair was a mess, and I hadn’t shaved in a few days, which was giving a real Wolverine-like quality to my appearance.
With my wild, disheveled looks and the rifle in my hand, I looked more like a character from a dystopian science fiction movie than a YouTuber being called in by the Panamanian government.
Still, at least my shirt was clean.
Sergeant Rodriguez pressed the button to go up, and the elevator smoothly hauled into action. He stood with his back straight as a ruler and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were turned to the front as though he was being inspected on parade, and he didn’t even glance at me once throughout the elevator ride. I got the distinct impression that he was anxious about something. Probably about what was waiting for us when we reached the end of this journey.
I watched the numbers light up as the elevator rose through the building. Fifth floor, sixth floor, seventh floor, eighth floor, ninth floor. We passed the fifteenth floor and still kept going. Twentieth floor, twenty-fifth floor, thirtieth floor, fortieth floor.
Finally the elevator dinged and came to a halt on the fifty-fifth floor of the building.
I was quite glad to get out of the confined space with the silent sergeant. I was never claustrophobic in elevators before, but maybe now I was just so used to being in the open air on the deck of the yacht that my brain had forgotten what it was like to be in a confined space for any length of time.
The elevator doors opened, and the sergeant and I stepped out into a carpeted corridor. The walls were covered in some ornate white-and-gold papered design, and there was a little half-table set against the wall beside the elevator that held a cut-glass bowl full of fresh flowers.
I stared at it in disbelief.
There were people out there barely surviving who had lost their families, their homes, all of their possessions, and yet somehow in here there was still enough time and energy to care about things like having fresh flowers on display.
“Sir?” Sergeant Rodriguez questioned.
“Flowers,” I said and gave a bitter chuckle.
“I’m sorry?” He frowned.
“Never mind.” I shook my head.
I wasn’t sure that I could explain what I was thinking about, and I was even less sure that the sergeant would understand or appreciate my observation.
The soldier shot me a wary look from underneath his eyebrows, but he didn’t comment any further and simply led the way down the corridor.
The thick pile of the carpet felt amazing underfoot, even through my shoes. The air smelled faintly of lavender and some woody air freshener, and we kept passing works of art hanging on the walls and more bowls of flowers.
I was trying to work out the situation in my head. We must be near or in Panama City. How could a city so close to the Canal not be in total ruins? Where were all the dragons? How was this place still running, and not only running but seemingly running to a pre-apocalyptical standard?
The sergeant halted by a shiny, dark wooden door. He rapped on it with his knuckles, waited for a moment, and then opened it. I followed him inside, and found myself in a long room that was dominated by a huge shiny conference table. The polished wood gleamed under the warm white glow of a decorative glass light fitting that hung from the ceiling. The chairs dotted around the table were made of fine, dark-green leather, and the window was covered by a heavy, dark-green velvet curtain.
“Take a seat,” Sergeant Rodriguez directed, and he gestured to the chairs around the table. “The Director General will be with you shortly.”
He left the room and closed the door behind him.
I didn’t want to sit down, and instead I prowled around the room to see what else was in here and to see if I could find any clues about what the mysterious Director General might have in store.
There was a disappointing lack of information in the room, which seemed to be just like a normal conference room, although one with very expensive interior decor.
I ended up by the window, and I pulled the curtain open a few inches to see if the view would be any more helpful. It was too dark to see anything, and the reflection from the light in the room meant that all I could see was my own shadowy figure. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and peered out into the darkness, and finally I began to make out the shapes of buildings nearby.
I was in a skyscraper. I’d guessed as much from the fifty-five floors the elevator had climbed up.
Beyond that, it was hard to discern anything about my location. The sky was still too cloudy for there to be any moon or starlight, and all the buildings that I could make out were dark with their windows either unlit or covered like this one was with blinds and curtains.
It occurred to me that the curtain must be a safety feature hung up to block any necessary light from seeping out into the night and potentially attracting any dragons to the location. I hastily pulled the curtain closed again and stepped back from the window.
As I did so, the door behind me opened.
I spun around to see a man in a smart black uniform enter the room. He was tall and broad, with shoulders like a bull, and his uniform sported various silver insignias and badges. He must have been in his early sixties with a brown, lined, heavy face, close-cropped silver hair, and eyebrows that were still thick and startlingly black.
“The Good Pirate?” He greeted me with a brisk nod.
“Uh, yes,” I answered. “But I usually go by Drew.”
“Excellent.” He strode across the room and stuck out a broad, heavy hand for me to shake. “I am Commissioner Hernandez, Director General of the Panamanian National Police. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Drew. I trust you had a comfortable journey?”
“As comfortable as it could be.” I raised my eyebrows. “Considering I was ambushed in the middle of the night and your men either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me anything about what you want with me.”
“Yes, I apologize for the cloak-and-dagger dramatics.” He gave a grim chuckle. “This is a very delicate situation, which I hope you will come to appreciate.”
“I might be able to appreciate it if someone could just tell me what the hell is going on,” I retorted.
The commissioner turned back to the shiny conference table, pulled out a chair, sat down, and gestured for me to do the same.
I sat down warily.
The commissioner reached into his pocket. My grip tightened on my rifle, but he took out a phone, tapped the screen, and slid it over to me.
I leaned forward to see what was happening.
The phone was playing one of the videos from my YouTube channel. The camera zoomed in on torn-up trees and disturbed earth, and I recognized it as the video I’d shot from the rooftop of the hotel on Providencia. I’d made it to try and show what signs people should look out for to see if there were any dragon nests in their local area.
“Three million views,” Commissioner Hernandez commented. “And the numbers go up every day.”
“You’re a fan of the videos?” My eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
“I’m a very big fan.” He nodded. “We’ve been following your progress and charting the growth of your channel. It’s very impressive.”
“Thank you?” I said in doubtful tones.
“You have millions of followers,” he said. “Millions of people who hang on your every word and trust everything you upload. That’s quite a gift.”
“Look, Commissioner Hernandez.” I slid the phone back over the table to him. “With all due respect, I’ve had a very long day, and I need some answers. Why are you so interested in a YouTube channel? Why did you have your men ambush my boat? What the hell is going on?”
The Commissioner leaned forward and steepled his fingers. He looked at me over his hands with a direct, steady gaze that didn’t waver for a second.
“There are two things going on,” he said. “The first thing is that the United States Coast Guard is on a mission to hunt down you and your crew. And the second thing? The second thing is that Panama needs your help.”
Chapter 10
Silence followed the Commissioner’s statement.
The older man was looking at me with a steady, unflinching focus, and I found that I couldn’t look away from his dark, intense eyes, even as my mind was completely overrun with questions.
“Okay,” I said finally. “The Coast Guard is out to get us. I can understand that. But I’m going to need a bit more information about how the country of Panama needs my help.”
“Certainly,” the Commissioner replied in an easy manner as though he recruited people based on YouTube videos every day. “As with most matters of concern these days, it all started with the meteorite shower. Almost as soon as the shower was over, we started noticing high numbers of United States Coast Guard vessels in the Panama Canal. At first we didn’t think anything of it. The Canal is a politically neutral area, and we have no objection to the Coast Guard using it as part of their operations, especially as we assumed that they would be using the passage to bring aid to the people who needed it. And then we received word that the United States government was sending troops to help the countries badly affected along the meteorite belt, so we reasoned that the increased Coast Guard presence was as a result of this.”
