Read Online Operation Caribe by Mack Maloney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mack Maloney
Tags: Suspense
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the top of his spine.
Crash Stacks leaned forward and pushed his pistol deeper into Cat’s neck.
“A couple of what?” he asked him.
* * *
THE ARADO FLOATPLANE appeared over the tiny unnamed cay just after sundown.
The four hung-over pirates waiting on the sandy beach forced themselves to their feet. Shaky as they were, they retrieved their weapons from their Boston Whaler and watched the floatplane come in for a landing.
None of the pirates wanted to go out on another foray; they’d celebrated last night’s crimes all too well, and now were paying heavily for it.
But when Colonel Cat contacted them and said he had another couple of Conchy Joes, real suckers, who appeared to have money, the pirates—now almost penniless again—knew they had to do the gig if just to recoup some of what they’d squandered the night before.
The floatplane taxied up to the deserted beach. The pirates waded out to it as the plane’s rear door opened. The youngest pirate, nicknamed Jumbey, was assigned to carry the team’s ammo. He had the clearest view of what happened next.
The first two pirates reached the open door and suddenly fell backward into the water. And just as suddenly, that water turned blood red.
At first, Jumbey thought his fellow pirates had hit their heads on the plane’s door or something. But then their limp bodies floated past him, and he could see what had happened.
Both had been cracked on the skull.
Jumbey looked up to see two men standing in the plane’s doorway, do-rags hiding most of their faces. They were aiming huge assault rifles at him and the remaining pirate.
Strangely, one of these men had a hook for a hand. The other wore an eye patch. Both were also wielding nightsticks, the weapons that had dispatched his two colleagues. But Jumbey knew these guys weren’t cops. Not typical ones, anyway.
They look more like pirates than we do , he found himself thinking.
“Come toward us … slowly,” the man with the eye patch told them. “Start fucking around and it will be the last thing you do.”
Jumbey and the remaining pirate, the senior man known as Crabbie, were so stunned they could do nothing but follow the man’s instructions.
As soon as they got within reach, the masked men dragged them into the plane, took their weapons away and began beating them severely. Jumbey was especially cut up by the hook hand, which the man used to hit him about the head and shoulders, slicing him badly with each blow.
The pummeling ended long enough for Jumbey to look up from the floor of the plane to see Colonel Cat sitting in one of the passenger seats, his face also showing the effects of a beating, his hands tied in front of him with duct tape.
That’s when the plane started moving again.
All Jumbey could think was: Who’s flying this thing?
* * *
BATMAN LOVED THE Arado floatplane.
It handled like a well-preserved 1930s sports car—and it looked like one, too. He’d flown jet fighters before his days in Delta Force, and he’d spent a lot of time piloting helicopters since Whiskey went into the pirate-busting business. But nothing moved through the air like the foldable Arado.
He was behind the controls now as the plane slowly climbed past 10,000 feet, heading east toward the open sea. Its human cargo of two pirates and Colonel Cat, all three bound by duct tape, was stretched out in the back, squeamish and squirming, as the plane rose even higher into the night sky.
Many things had happened in the past twenty-four hours, not all of them expected. Thanks to the information give to them by BABE, Whiskey had boned up on the Muy Capaz, and now knew they were indeed smarter than your average pirate band. In addition to their attention to detail whenever they swooped down on a hapless vessel, careful to leave no evidence behind, the pirate gang apparently maintained a hideout so well hidden, the Bahamian cops had long since given up trying to find it. Even with the promise
Crash Stacks leaned forward and pushed his pistol deeper into Cat’s neck.
“A couple of what?” he asked him.
* * *
THE ARADO FLOATPLANE appeared over the tiny unnamed cay just after sundown.
The four hung-over pirates waiting on the sandy beach forced themselves to their feet. Shaky as they were, they retrieved their weapons from their Boston Whaler and watched the floatplane come in for a landing.
None of the pirates wanted to go out on another foray; they’d celebrated last night’s crimes all too well, and now were paying heavily for it.
But when Colonel Cat contacted them and said he had another couple of Conchy Joes, real suckers, who appeared to have money, the pirates—now almost penniless again—knew they had to do the gig if just to recoup some of what they’d squandered the night before.
The floatplane taxied up to the deserted beach. The pirates waded out to it as the plane’s rear door opened. The youngest pirate, nicknamed Jumbey, was assigned to carry the team’s ammo. He had the clearest view of what happened next.
The first two pirates reached the open door and suddenly fell backward into the water. And just as suddenly, that water turned blood red.
At first, Jumbey thought his fellow pirates had hit their heads on the plane’s door or something. But then their limp bodies floated past him, and he could see what had happened.
Both had been cracked on the skull.
Jumbey looked up to see two men standing in the plane’s doorway, do-rags hiding most of their faces. They were aiming huge assault rifles at him and the remaining pirate.
Strangely, one of these men had a hook for a hand. The other wore an eye patch. Both were also wielding nightsticks, the weapons that had dispatched his two colleagues. But Jumbey knew these guys weren’t cops. Not typical ones, anyway.
They look more like pirates than we do , he found himself thinking.
“Come toward us … slowly,” the man with the eye patch told them. “Start fucking around and it will be the last thing you do.”
Jumbey and the remaining pirate, the senior man known as Crabbie, were so stunned they could do nothing but follow the man’s instructions.
As soon as they got within reach, the masked men dragged them into the plane, took their weapons away and began beating them severely. Jumbey was especially cut up by the hook hand, which the man used to hit him about the head and shoulders, slicing him badly with each blow.
The pummeling ended long enough for Jumbey to look up from the floor of the plane to see Colonel Cat sitting in one of the passenger seats, his face also showing the effects of a beating, his hands tied in front of him with duct tape.
That’s when the plane started moving again.
All Jumbey could think was: Who’s flying this thing?
* * *
BATMAN LOVED THE Arado floatplane.
It handled like a well-preserved 1930s sports car—and it looked like one, too. He’d flown jet fighters before his days in Delta Force, and he’d spent a lot of time piloting helicopters since Whiskey went into the pirate-busting business. But nothing moved through the air like the foldable Arado.
He was behind the controls now as the plane slowly climbed past 10,000 feet, heading east toward the open sea. Its human cargo of two pirates and Colonel Cat, all three bound by duct tape, was stretched out in the back, squeamish and squirming, as the plane rose even higher into the night sky.
Many things had happened in the past twenty-four hours, not all of them expected. Thanks to the information give to them by BABE, Whiskey had boned up on the Muy Capaz, and now knew they were indeed smarter than your average pirate band. In addition to their attention to detail whenever they swooped down on a hapless vessel, careful to leave no evidence behind, the pirate gang apparently maintained a hideout so well hidden, the Bahamian cops had long since given up trying to find it. Even with the promise
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