Unlawful Chase C.J. Schnier (readera ebook reader .TXT) 📖

Cuban military. The soldiers did not seem to be actively patrolling, but merely posted at strategic locations about the tiny village. Trying my best to look casual, I walked down a pathway leading away from the house with the soldiers and quickly put another house between them and myself. Carefully, I picked my way through the village, avoiding two more small groups of soldiers until I saw what had to be Dr. Blatt's two-story house.

It was a concrete building, built in a colonial Spanish style, with a tile roof and shuttered archways. Though built in a similar style, it was not nearly as grand as Pruitt's house had been. But, compared to the shanties and huts in the village, it was a mansion. Its two stories rose above everything but the nearby hotel.

Most of the soldiers were stationed away from the house and arranged in such a way as to give them the greatest surveillance coverage of the village. However, two men stood guard outside of the front door to Blatt's villa. Both had automatic rifles and looked to be on high alert. Their heads never stopped moving, constantly scanning from one point in the village to another.

I'm not getting in that way, I thought to myself.

Even without the guards, the front door was out of the question. At least two of the other groups of soldiers had a perfect view of the front of the house, and its sparse yard. I would have to find another way in. If the front door wasn't an option, I had no choice but to try the back. Carefully, I flanked the house, staying close to the jungle, my only option for escape should they see me.

A large garden stretched out from behind the house, bordered by a three-foot stone fence. If I could get inside the garden, the fence would provide me with plenty of cover to approach the house. It was the only option I had.

There were fewer guards here on the outskirts of the village. Most of the soldiers appeared to be concentrated in the town's center. The only obstacle in my way was a lone guard standing by an old iron gate. It served as the solitary entrance to the garden.

This part of the village was relatively isolated, with few houses besides the hotel and the mansion. Except for one old lady who had just finished sweeping the porch of her house, there had been no movement. I watched the guard for at least five minutes and could tell he was bored, but alert. I was going to need a distraction to get by unnoticed.

I did not have very many options. Knocking the man out would raise the alarm once he came to. I briefly considered throwing a rock nearby and hoping he would leave to investigate, but that trick probably only ever worked in movies and video games. At a loss for what to do, I surveyed the few surrounding homes and my eyes finally fell on a small pig pen along the side of the old lady's house. Inside, a fat sow was munching on scraps, grunting with contentment. I had an idea.

Stealthily, I made my way over towards the pen, keeping a wary eye out for both the soldiers and the old lady who had thankfully disappeared into her house. I timed my advancement with the head movements of the guard to minimize my chances of being seen. It took me two minutes to cover the sixty or seventy yards, but I made it to the pen unseen.

Like most things in the village, the pigpen was crude but effective. I followed the crooked line of posts and sticks with my eyes until I found the gate. A length of rope nestled into a deep notch cut into the gatepost held it closed. Certainly crude, but effective.

I slipped over the low fence unnoticed by everyone but the pig, who let out a tiny squeal of surprise. After a moment it waddled over to me and poked me in the thigh with its snout and grunted.

I gave her a quick "shh" and made my way to the gate, staying low and out of sight. The fat sow followed me, interested in who this intruder was. I pulled the rope loop over the gatepost and shoved the raggedy gate open. The pig looked out of the open gate, looked up at me, and "oinked."

"Go on! Get!" I commanded in a hushed whisper. But the pig stood dumb and unmoving. "Vamamos, er, marcharse," I added, realizing the pig wouldn't understand English.

Still, the pig didn't budge.

I pushed the animal towards the open gate but she stood firm, her hooves rooted to the ground. I even slapped her on the hind quarter with no luck. My distraction wasn't working out so well.

One last thought occurred to me. I grabbed the rope that had been used to keep the gate shut. It was made of a prickly natural fiber, probably hemp or sisal. Gripping both sides, I tested its strength. Then, I brought it up, took aim, and slung it forward with a snap, popping the pig on her rump as hard as I could.

The sow let out an ear-piercing scream and shot out of the pen like a bullet. I barely had time to duck behind the fence before a dozen faces turned towards the squealing pig. Peeping through a hole in the fence, I could see a set of guards pointing and laughing at the panicked animal. Moments later the old lady came running from her house with her hands waving comically as the pig ran through a neighbor's dilapidated fence, scattering chickens in every direction. The soldiers doubled over with laughter, and I had to suppress a chuckle of my own.

I climbed back over the fence, certain they would not see me. My distraction had worked. The soldier guarding the rear garden left his post to witness the spectacle.

I slipped from my cover and made my way towards the rusty