099:

The plan was for the real pirate's boat to swing around in front of Melia's vessel and fire a warning shot over their bow, to administer a sign of intent to board. Villarino's goons were known in these waters for their discipline and their arms. They were trained thugs, but still thugs. Robert's pirates were not exactly excited to be going against them, but the reward had been more than they could stand. Plus, it was obvious Robert had leadership on his side, and ingenuity.

Robert's yacht would have been hiding behind the pirate's larger cruiser, and when they got close, he and most of his men would be with the pirates ready to board, threaten, wipe out and fight. Meanwhile his captain would take the yacht around behind and engulf with the weapon he had purchased before entering Caribbean waters, so that nobody.... Not one soul would dare take his boat from him.

If they didn't subdue the enemy easily and from the start, Jim would be launching the rocket propelled grenade that would sink Villarino's boat. After... they'd got Melia and the girls safely off, of course.

Robert strapped on his belt, checked his boot knife and replayed a scene of Rambo getting ready for war in his head. He'd always liked Stallone in Rambo. Tough, the consummate tough. He yanked on the shoulder holster once again for good measure, took his hand gun out to give it one last peek, and then shoved it back where it had come from. Every weapon he owned was automatic or semi automatic. He hadn't come into these waters on this million dollar yacht unprepared or naively. He knew what it cost to tootle around like a tourist, and he knew his was a prime candidate for "transfer".

He just hadn't thought about being the pirates....defense, yes... aggression...hadn't crossed his mind except in the movies, and he'd done plenty.

He sort of wished he had a cloak, like-- Batman.

Oh, yeah, he was Rambo, now.

He joined his men on deck, focused on the approaching Villarino vessel as it steamed peacefully along carrying its precious cargo. Unconcerned about attempts to rescue, its crew was too used to ruling the waves this side of the Caribbean.

It had to be done. He couldn't let that boat dock and Melia be taken to any sort of hospital or laboratory. Once there she would be too vulnerable, and it could happen too quickly, he might not be able to get to her. Out here was his only chance. The vessel loomed ahead of them; his men tensed awaiting the signal shot. In seconds it came and the engine whine they'd been hearing cut suddenly, as both of their small armada fired up to speed. Moments only....

Words were exchanged. The Villarino captain was fake friendly, playing down their "bought a new boat" ploy, no cargo. Cocky and swaggering, extending the low life picture, and causing Robert to flinch, realizing he should have played this role himself, the pirate captain jauntily explained they'd take the boat then.

More bribes, exchanged negotiations, and finally threats. There would be a fight. Robert pressed his fingers to the signal indicator in his pocket and suddenly all the men rushed forward across the two boats and leaped onto the Villarino helm unexpectedly.

Adrenaline pumping Robert went hand to hand with the first men he saw through the bloodlust in his eye, all other thoughts forgotten. His fist connected with bone, blood spurted... evil eyes closed and he went on, running, his gun out and ready now, making for a lower deck, where bedrooms might have been located, and where a guard would be posted. He left behind the sounds of swashbuckling swords and cannon firing, even though the actual fighting in this era was pinged with bullets, the running and yelling was the same.

Two of his men were right behind him, looking for all the world like a swat team, they rounded a corner and then pounded down a flight of stairs, rounded another corner, saw the wary watching guards and Robert fired before they could even think about what might be happening to them. One went down, the other managed to shoot. Robert nailed him before the bullets could ricochet any further.

He yelled her name. Heard the babies screaming and yelled for her to get away from the door. He stepped back and then threw his weight into a fierce kick, the flimsy trim gave way easily and on the bed, huddled, was Melia, the lamp stand in her hands ready to defend herself and her babies. He'd never seen anything so ridiculous nor so pathetically stunning. Her eyes were coldly determined, and yet fierce. She sported a black eye, bruises running the length of her puffy face, and a jagged cut on her upper lip, but she was ready to do battle for her babies. Her posture was defensive; protective... he lowered his gun, pulled back his glasses, and saw her eyes widen in sudden recognition.

One step....

*****