"Be my guest and swim on over," Remo replied, voice low and lips barely moving. Pablo was too busy to notice them speaking. "I think I'll wait until the boat is within jumping range. Just remember to leave enough alive to take us to their secret pirate fort."
"You want me to do all the work," Chiun complained.
Remo wasn't listening to Chiun any longer as the pirate on the approaching ship shouted to Pablo, "Describe this woman!"
Pablo looked confused, but shouted back a brief list of Stacy Armitage's physical attributes.
The pirate captain then looked worried. He turned to one of the crew and barked, "Bring her up."
"Oh, crap," Remo Williams muttered. He knew what he was going to see next, and Fate didn't disappoint him.
Stacy Armitage, disheveled, frightened and furious, was dragged up from the depths of the trawler. Chiun sniffed. Remo was more vocal in his frustration.
"Shut up!" Pablo said savagely. He was scared now. "What is going on?" he demanded of the pirate captain.
"We took her off a boat we met up with a few hours ago. She was with two DEA agents," the pirate called.
"Now can we start killing them?" Chiun asked as the pirates tossed padded grappling hooks over the Melody's rail and Pablo took the time to set them fast, still covering his prisoners.
Remo was watching the pirate captain, who placed a pair of his men to guard the senator's daughter, and sent them belowdecks.
"Not yet, Little Father. Not until Stacy is safe." Chiun gave Remo another look. It said simply, Well, okay, but you are going to owe me big time.
Okay, Remo thought, bringing the babe was a big boo-boo. Chiun was right and he was wrong. But what the hell was he supposed to do, let her wander the streets of Puerta Plata asking the wrong people the wrong questions until she got herself thoroughly killed?
Well, yeah, that probably would have been better than letting her fall into the hands of this freaked-out band of buccaneer wanna-bes.
Self-recrimination was one of the two trains of thought jockeying for dominance in Remo's brain as the pirates boarded the Melody. The second was an unquenchable disbelief in what he was seeing. He had never really believed they'd run into a bunch of pirates who really thought they were pirates. It was nuts. But here they were, all decked out in garb that, minus zippers and assorted other trivia, could easily have passed inspection in another century. Half of them were shirtless, while the rest wore shirts sporting bishop sleeves and antique-looking buttons where they closed in front at all. A lot of them left their shirts gaping open like some pretty boy on the cover of an historical romance novel. Their pants were faded, baggy, patched, some held in place with rope strung through the belt loops. Several of the men wore cross belts, supporting a variety of swords or sabers, in addition to the firearms they displayed. Bright-colored scarves were knotted around several necks, and two of the attackers wore bandannas on their heads. One of the boarders wore an eye patch, and the trawler's captain had produced a tricorne hat from somewhere, prior to boarding, and it perched atop his head now, like a kooky badge of rank.
"Permission to come aboard, sir," the pirate captain in the tricorne said, laughing aloud at his own wit. A couple of the others chuckled, too, but it was plainly more from courtesy than any real appreciation of the joke. Most of the boarding party had seemed intent on stripping Stacy with their eyes, or else examining the Melody for any sign of loot.
"Permission granted," Remo said, playing the game.
"Ah, courtesy." The pirate leader smiled. "We don't be seein' much of that these days."
"Life's hard," said Remo.
"That's the ever-lovin' truth, and gettin' harder all the time," the pirate said. "William Teach, at your service. I'll be takin' command of your vessel today."
It was a bad sign that the leader of the boarding party gave his name, Remo knew. It meant that Teach didn't anticipate survivors testifying in a court of law against him. Even though that knowledge came as no surprise to Remo, still it emphasized the desperate nature of his mission, and the peril facing Stacy, should anything go wrong beyond that point. "I don't suppose you'd entertain objections?"
Remo asked. It was pushing his luck, but he felt better, stalling for time.
"Oh, aye," said William Teach. "I'll entertain whatever you've a mind to offer, but I doubt that it will do you or the missus any good. If she's really your missus, which I doubt. Name?"
"I'm Remo Rubble. You've already met my wife, Stacy. And Chiun, a family friend." He let his voice turn hard as he glanced back toward Pablo Altamira. "You know our guide, I take it."
"That's the dyin' truth," Teach said, and laughed again. "Young Paco there's a friend o' mine."
"Pablo," the young Dominican corrected Teach.
"Whatever." Teach didn't so much as spare a glance for the offended gunman.
"Under the circumstances," Remo said, "he won't mind if I hold up payment for his services." Teach brayed another laugh, enjoying Remo's wit.
"Hold up his payment! That's a corker, it is. But you're right as rain, sir. You'll be payin' me this trip. I'll see young Paco taken care of, right and proper."
"That's a load off my mind," Remo told the pirate, managing a smile. "Why not let my wife join us?"
"No more games," Teach said, but he was still smiling. "You DEA?"
"No, but the DEA asked us to keep an eye out for suspicious activity while we were on our cruise," Remo said, coming up with a cover story on the spot.
"See, we have all this special stuff in the helm. Computers and what have you. Paid an extra half million just for the electronics. I guess the DEA's stuff isn't as good, so they said as long as we were cruising around maybe we could keep an electronic record of ship activity."
"That doesn't explain why we found the missus in a DEA boat before dawn this morning," Teach prodded.
"They radioed last night that they thought a big drug run was going on in the vicinity and offered to take Stacy to safety. Since she was debarking in a couple of days anyway, we took them up on the offer. Where are the DEA agents?"
Teach nodded vaguely at the vast Caribbean. The meaning was clear. The DEA agents were feeding the fishes. Teach's smile was taunting now. "Not a very likely story, Mr.... Remo, was it? Now, what kinda name is that, if I may ask?"
"Unlucky," Remo said.
The pirate laughed again. "Truer words were never spoke, my friend. Unlucky's what you are, all right, but as it happens, I've been feeling generous all day. How would it be if I said you could choose the way you'll die?"
"I'd pick old age."
"Well said!" Teach answered, chuckling. "But that method isn't on the menu, I'm afraid. Suppose I tell you what's available, and you pick what you like."
"Whatever."
"We could try keelhauling, but I don't recommend it to the friendly sort. There's still beheading, and the firing squad, of course. Old standbys, if you will. I'd offer you a duel, but that's too time-consuming, I'm afraid. If you're a sporting man, you just might want to walk the plank."
"And have you shoot me in the water?" Remo asked.
Teach placed one hand over his heart and raised the other, with a shiny pistol in it, to the sky. "My word of honor as a gentleman," he said without apparent irony. "We'll leave you sink or swim, as Fate would have it."
"What about my wife?" asked Remo. "And Chiun?"
"Your 'wife' goes with us, o' course, just in case your friends happen to catch up to us, which they will not," said Teach. "We're not as cruel as that, to kill a sweet young thing who's barely gotten started on the road of life. She'll not be lonely in her widowhood, I promise you. As for the Chinaman, I haven't made my mind up yet. He wouldn't cook, by any chance?"
Remo was sure Chiun was going to start doing some killing before the entire word "Chinaman" was uttered, but the old master stood stock-still, hands in his sleeves, face impassive. Remo couldn't begin to calculate the favors he was going to owe Chiun.