Motzi called out in either rapid Spanish or Nahuatl to a couple of the ladies nearby and they laughed and called back something in the same language, which made Motzi blush a deep red color.
Lauren caught his look and couldn’t resist teasing him. “Oh-ho, Motzi. What’s going on? You got a new girlfriend?”
If possible, Motzi turned an even darker shade of red. “No, not that.”
“So, what was that all about?” Lauren continued, not about to let him off the hook.
“Motzi ask how water was, and lady called back for me to take my clothes off and jump in and she would do same and join me in a swim.”
Mason laughed. “Well, we’ve got a few minutes to spare; want to take her up on it, Motzi?”
Motzi shook his head rapidly. “No! Motzi just… how you say… teasing.”
Lauren suddenly stood up in the bow of the boat and pointed. “Look, I think that’s our transportation up ahead.”
Mason turned and looked downriver and his mouth dropped open at the sight of one of the strangest watercraft he’d ever seen. It looked like a huge Zodiac-style boat with two fan-looking propellers on the rear and various and sundry other smaller structures on each side. The boat appeared to be some sort of hovercraft as it was floating a couple of feet off the surface of the river and moving in slow circles just inside the river’s opening into the ocean.
There was what looked to be a fifty-caliber machine gun affixed to the bow with two Marines manning it, and the barrel was pointed directly at them.
Lauren looked worriedly at Mason. “They are expecting us, aren’t they?”
“I certainly hope so.”
He stood up and waved his arms. “Ahoy, the boat,” he called. “I’m Dr. Mason Williams and these are my associates.”
The engines on the boat stilled and the boat sunk down until it floated on the river current, until one of the large anchors on the starboard side was lowered into the river.
A naval officer with lieutenant commander bars on his collars stepped to the front of the boat. He said a couple of words to the men manning the machine gun and they relaxed, letting the barrel rise to point at the sky.
He waved at Mason, beckoning them onward. “Come aboard, Dr. Williams and crew,” he added, smiling widely. “Glad to see you survived until we arrived.”
Thirty minutes later they were aboard, their gear had been stored, and they were in the galley being treated to the first decent meal they’d had since they left the Cytotec lab.
The naval officer walked into the room and said, “Good evening and welcome to our LCAC. I am Lieutenant Commander Steven Piner.”
Mason stood up and held out his hand. “Hello, Commander. I’m Dr. Mason Williams, and this is Dr. Lauren Sullivan, and our native guide and friend, Guatemotzi.”
Piner shook hands with Lauren, but when he turned to shake hands with Motzi he was surprised to see the boy snap to attention and give him a first-class salute, his face dead serious.
“I am named for the last and greatest Aztec emperor,” Motzi intoned.
Piner grinned and returned the salute, “And I can see why your father gave you this honor, for you are surely a great warrior, also.”
As Motzi beamed with pride, Piner gestured for them all to sit down. “Please, continue with your meal.”
He took a cup of coffee from the steward and joined them, sitting at the head of the table so he could watch all of them as they talked.
“Commander,” Mason said around a mouthful of roast beef. “You said this boat is called an LCAC?”
“Yes, it’s a little easier than saying welcome to our Landing Craft Air Cushion, otherwise known as a hovercraft.”
“Commander Piner,” Lauren said, “would you mind telling us a little about the boat, as it is quite the strangest-looking craft I’ve ever seen.”
Piner beamed, “Sure, ma’am, I’d be pleased to. The LCAC is used primarily as a landing craft by the United States Navy’s Assault Craft Units. In addition to up to a full payload of helicopters, tanks, and sixty tons of cargo, we can transport twenty-four fully loaded, geared-up, and battle-ready Marines. Our top speed is seventy knots or about seventy-five mph and our range at that speed is about one hundred and forty miles, depending on how heavily loaded we are.”
“Jesus,” Mason said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “This thing really moves.”
“Yeah, and since it’s a hovercraft, over eighty percent of the world’s coastline is accessible to us. She’s quite an asset.”
“So, do you cross the ocean in this or are you carried by another ship?” Lauren asked.
“We’re transported aboard the USS Makin Island out of San Diego, California. We were the closest asset to your position when you called for help.”
“The USS Makin Island?” Mason asked, holding up his cup for a refill.
“All of the LCACs are carried aboard what is called the Wasp Class of Landing Helicopter Dock amphibious assault ships, or LHDs.” Piner grinned, “You can see why the military loves their acronyms, since the official names of these things are quite cumbersome.”
Lauren reached over and patted Mason’s shoulder while grinning at Piner. “Mason, I think we’re in very good hands indeed.”
She held up her coffee cup in a toast to the commander, “Thank you for rescuing us, fair sir.”
Piner nodded, blushing a slight bit. “You are quite welcome, ma’am.”
“So what now?” Mason asked.
Piner shrugged. “That’s up to you, Doctor. My orders, and they come from very high up, are to take you wherever you want to go and to give you any assistance you need — apparently up to and including going to war with Mexico if we need to.”
He paused and looked intently at Mason. “If you don’t mind my asking, just what the hell are you two up to?”
Mason glanced at Lauren, who nodded for him to go on. “Well, we might just have the beginnings of a cure for this plague that is sweeping the world, and there are a group of bad guys, including some in the Mexican military, who are trying to prevent us from getting the cure to the rest of the world.”
Piner’s face flushed red. “You mean you might have the answer to all these millions of people dying and some sons of bitches are trying to stop you?” he growled.
Mason nodded. “That’s about the size of it, Commander.”
Piner stood up. “Well, hell, then, my men and I will deliver you to the very gates of hell if need be to stop this plague.”
“That won’t be necessary, Commander.” Mason took a pen and paper from the middle of the table and wrote on it and then handed it to Piner. “If you can deliver us and a squad of armed Marines to those coordinates, we should be able to take it from there.”
“You got it, Doc. I’ll take these to our navigator and we’ll get you within helicopter range and then we’ll get you delivered safe and sound as soon as we can.”
Chapter 39
The United States was in the midst of the largest and most intensive airlift since the days of the Berlin Airlift in 1948 and 1949. Hospitals, clinics, and doctors’ offices that had a surplus of antibiotics and IV fluids were donating their extras to places that were experiencing acute shortages.
Typically more rural areas were less hard hit by the plague than places with a more densely compacted population. It was the same with countries, but most of the less densely populated countries were also the poorest and their supplies were never very copious to begin with.
Under the auspices of the U.S. Air Force, practically every plane that could fly, as well as every pilot that was not sick with the plague, was being conscripted to fly medical supplies from one location to another, and it was starting to make a difference, as the number of new plague victims was starting to level out a bit.