Dead Man's Land Jack Patterson (classic novels txt) 📖

as he came to. He was lying on a cot, thirsty and disoriented, unsure of where he was or what was happening to him. A pale light penetrated the small curtains as he bobbed up and down on the mattress springs.

Where am I?

He rubbed his eyes and opened them wide. The constant whine of an engine along with the rhythmic bouncing let him know he wasn’t in an airplane but in a boat.

He staggered out of the cabin below deck and wandered up a small flight of stairs.

Torres, standing at the helm of the boat, winked at him. “Well, good morning, sleepy head. Nice of you to join us.”

Prado scratched his head and squinted at the sun’s light streaming from overhead. “Where am I?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is where you’re going.”

“And where’s that?”

Torres pointed ahead. “Look that way. Anything look familiar?”

Prado turned and looked across the bow of the boat at the horizon. He recognized the Sierra Maestra mountain range rising in the distance.

Cuba.

Torres smiled. “Welcome home, Señor Prado.”

CHAPTER 19

CAL AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING tired and achy. He wasn’t 21 anymore, even if he wasn’t yet 30. Still, he admitted that recovery time wasn’t what it used to be. His back felt sore as did his quad muscles from running through the woods. But at least he was alive—and in his own bed.

Kelly rolled over and gave him a kiss. “On the plus side of this debacle, at least you’re not out of town for a week.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you’re trying to look for the positives in all of this.”

“And you just might get the story of a lifetime.”

Cal rolled over and dangled his feet off the edge until he willed them to touch the floor. “I’ve had far too many of those already. I don’t want to make the rest of my career about topping the latest and greatest.”

“You have to admit that a Cuban player kidnapped at the direction of his government makes for more than some passing mention on the inside of the sports section. In fact, I dare say this belongs on the front page.”

“I don’t care where it’s placed as long as it’s compelling.”

She snickered. “I find your newfound modesty refreshing—and a giant crock of—”

“Okay, okay. I do care. But at this point, I’m just happy to be home and in one piece.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“Well, I’ve had a day to think about it.”

“And by the end of the day, you’ll be raring to go on some crazy new adventure.”

He smiled. “I can’t lie—you’re probably right. But you never know what the day will hold.”

“I know what my day holds—and that’s getting Maddie to her doctor’s appointment for her three-year-old checkup.” She headed for the door.

“Have fun.”

“Oh, I will. She’s getting a booster shot today.”

“So, ice cream afterward?”

She nodded. “Care to join us?”

“Perhaps, but I’ll have to get back with you on that. Buckman wants to have a big pow-wow over yesterday’s events.”

“I don’t know which is worse—shots or a meeting with Buckman?”

Cal stumbled toward the show. “Maddie definitely has the upper hand in this one.”

“Call me later.”

Cal drove to the office and headed straight for Buckman’s office. When he arrived, Buckman was hunched over his keyboard, squinting at the screen.

“You know those glasses on top of your head might help you see more clearly so you don’t have to sit so close,” Cal said.

Buckman didn’t move other than to flash an obscene gesture at Cal.

Cal seemed emboldened by Buckman’s response instead of silenced. “Fink didn’t start doing that until he was in his mid-sixties. You’ve got at least a year or two head start on him.”

Buckman’s eyes narrowed and he turned his head slowly toward Cal. “I’m still in good enough shape to take you.” He paused. “Don’t make me get up.”

A sly grin spread across Cal’s face. “Don’t worry. I won’t. I wouldn’t want you to hurt your back or turn an ankle getting over here.”

Buckman rolled his eyes. “I sure hope you’re better at coming up with a story than you are at coming up with original insults.”

Cal settled into the chair in front of Buckman’s desk. “Isn’t that what we’re here to talk about?”

Buckman gestured toward the door. “Shut it.” He glanced at his notepad in front of him until Cal sat back down. “I want you to tell me everything, starting with why these guys were after Prado—and why the FBI is, too.”

Cal shrugged. “I can’t say for sure because Prado didn’t really know for sure either. But what he told me was that he saw a murder right before he jumped on a boat for Mexico so he could defect. And then the guys who were after him were the same ones who helped him escape—at least that’s what he suspected. His theory was that they were upset over the small portion they were getting from his baseball contract, and there was a bigger payday from the Cuban government to return him. But that’s all I know.”

“Did you get the sense that Prado is a shady character?”

Cal shook his head. “On the contrary, I thought he was a good kid, perhaps just caught up in an unfortunate set of circumstances.”

“Those smugglers are always bad news.”

“Yes, but most of the time, that’s these Cuban players’ only option unless they can escape during an international tournament and defect there. Prado wasn’t good enough to make it on the Cuban national team—and judging from his play during his first week or so here, I can see why.”

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s hitting .167 with one RBI and eight strikeouts. Not exactly national team material.”

“Not pro baseball material.”

“Time will tell, but it’s clear to me that someone either convinced him he was good enough to play in the big leagues or that he simply wanted out of Cuba. And neither of those things makes him some kind of menace to the Cuban government that they would want him back.”

Buckman wagged his