Fanfic: Island Dreams (pt 2 of 6)
TITLE: Island Dreams (pt 2 of 6)
AUTHOR: Bittenfeld
RATING: PG
WARNING: none
PAIRING: none… yet!
DISCLAIMER: Fanfic only. Not for profit. I do not own any copyright of Miami Vice.
SUMMARY: While vacationing in the Bahamas, Rico is taken prisoner by a strange cult of people. Sonny and Castillo, coming to retrieve him, finally reach the island… Dammit, where was Rico? “Marty,” he started to whisper, “where the hell…” “Quiétate!” the lieutenant hissed, black eyes flashing fire at him. “Silencio, esclavo!”
The late afternoon sun sparkled on the water as the speedboat skimmed through it, sending up a fine white spray. At the wheel, Sonny Crockett found it difficult to concentrate, as his eyes kept drifting to the man standing beside him. It wasn’t just seeing Lieutenant Castillo dressed in all-white windbreaker, blouse and slacks, the antithesis of the dark conservative suits he always wore - it was the strangeness of this whole damn situation.
Crockett frowned as he tried to understand the decision of his supervisor. He could detect nothing from the stern closed expression on the lieutenant’s face; dark sunglasses hid whatever blue eyes might have revealed.
Right now Crockett felt more than a little uncomfortable. He too was dressed in all-white as well, T-shirt and loose slacks - evidently something like “when in Rome…”
Finally he spoke over the roar of the speedboat’s engine. “Marty, don’t you think we should have - ?”
“No.” The dark-haired man shifted his head and directed a level gaze at Crockett, held it on the blond for a long moment, then turned back to watch the ocean rushing past.
They continued on in silence, and presently Crockett could see a smudge on the horizon.
“Muerte Blanca?”
Castillo’s nod was almost imperceptible. The smudge grew until it finally took shape as an island, then Crockett attempted conversation again.
“Dammit, Marty,” he snapped, not giving the lieutenant a chance to interrupt, “this is the stupidest, damnedest… Hell, why aren’t just going in with a SWAT team - we could blow the place apart if they gave us any trouble!”
Even over the engine’s roar, the chastisement in Castillo’s voice was clearly audible. “I would expect an irrational outburst like that from Detective Switek or Zito - not from you, Crockett.”
Crockett’s lips tightened, irritated more than he would like to admit by the sting of Castillo’s words.
“We have no jurisdiction on the island,” the lieutenant pronounced calmly.
“Jurisdiction, hell!” Crockett retorted, refusing to back down. “They kidnapped a United States citizen - dammit, they’ve got Rico! My partner, your friend… A bunch of weird freaked-out religious druggies! We could take them out easy.”
“You would do everything by force.”
Crockett wasn’t sure if that was a statement or a question. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it.
Castillo continued, eyes watching the approaching bit of land, voice level and steady, which belied the urgency of his words: “We are guests of the high priest, and as such, we will conduct ourselves with complete respect for their laws, just as they are bound by the laws of others whenever they leave the island. To not act courteously could mean our imprisonment - or execution - alongside Rico. And nobody would be allowed to come to our assistance.” He turned to look directly at Crockett to emphasize his statement, then reverted his attention to their destination, and added, “The high priest considers me his equal. You and Rico are thought to be my servants. You will accept the rôle. That means you will not speak or act without my permission, and you will do nothing out of turn, no matter what you might witness.”
Crockett stared at his supervisor’s profile, even as he felt the tension building in his chest.
Castillo’s gaze behind the dark glasses remained steady. “This is not a game. This is Rico’s life - this is my life, and yours. This is a time when you will need to act as more of a man than ever before - when you will be treated as less than a man. Do you understand?”
Crockett moistened his lips and swallowed, trying to find a voice to answer with. “Yes.”
“The high priest is merely an acquaintance. We are not friends. Do not presume any allowance for careless behavior. He is letting us enter their privacy only because several years ago, I once did a favor for him and his people. That is all.”
They were coming alongside the island now, and Castillo directed Crockett to anchor the boat off a small stretch of sandy beach.
“So why did you decide to even bring me along?” Crockett questioned, as he steered the boat around the shore to the landing point. “You can take care of yourself, and you don’t seem to think my behavior can be guaranteed.”
“I may need help caring for Rico.”
Crockett stiffened at the implication. “Caring for Rico? Why - do you think they might have hurt him?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Wait a minute!” Ignoring his steering momentarily, Crockett gripped the sleeve of Castillo’s windbreaker. “I don’t understand you! It’s bad enough, you wanting to just waltz in here without proper back-up. But when you knew he could be hurt…”
Castillo only cautioned calmly, “Careful of those rocks ahead.”
“Shit!” Jerking the wheel, Crockett swerved the craft sharply, then began to ease it alongside the beach. As they rounded the rocky outcropping, another boat came into view, bobbing lazily at its anchorage. On the side was painted: “Hernandez Boat Rental, West Palm Beach, FL”
“Hey!” Crockett called. “Could that be Rico’s boat?”
“Probably.”
Irritation simmered within, and Crockett hissed, “I don’t know how you can stay so goddamn calm!”
“I prefer to conserve my energies to assist Tubbs. You might do the same.”
The other man forced himself to count to ten, instead of exploding at the lieutenant’s maddening composure. Skillfully he manipulated the wheel and throttle until the boat slipped smoothly into place beside Rico’s craft. “So, tell me. What did you do for them that they’re willing to be so nice to you now?” he asked curiously.
Castillo’s gaze scanned the shoreline and encroaching jungle. “A few years ago, when I was with the DEA, three men from the island attempted to import their ritual drugs through Puerto Rico. I could have arrested them for smuggling; instead I escorted them back here and spoke with the high priest, warning him never to allow such an occurrence to happen again. And as far as I know, it never has.”
“What if they expect us to participate in some weird ritual to get Rico back?” Crockett inquired, as he shut the engine down. “You said to ignore anything I might witness. But what if they demand that we indulge in some of their magic mushrooms or whatever? What are we supposed to do then?”
For a moment Castillo hesitated, then replied, “I will make my decision when or if the situation occurs. Then whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey.” The weight of his gaze, shifting to Crockett, silently emphasized his command.
Sonny could feel tension cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach, but he said nothing while he anchored the boat and they waded ashore. Rico’s craft drew his eye longingly, and momentarily he considered boarding it to seek any clue about its missing occupant, but before he could, Castillo’s pronouncement interrupted him.
“They’re here.”
Jerking around, Crockett stared at the six men who seemed to have had materialized out of nothingness. At least they were just men, and not zombies, as his overactive imagination had wanted to suggest. But disconcertment niggled in his brain from the wicked knives in their hands, and the strange white markings tattooing their faces and shoulders, and particularly the glassy stares of their eyes.
One stepped forward. Ignoring Crockett’s presence, he looked at the darker man and announced, “Teniente Castillo.”
Castillo nodded slightly. “Sí.”
“Venga con nosotros.”
Again Castillo inclined his head in acknowledgement, and began to follow the man across the beach toward the jungle. Obligingly Crockett fell into step behind the lieutenant, and the other men formed ranks around them.
It was late afternoon. The thick foliage had captured the day’s heat, and Crockett felt like he was in a steam bath. Sweat leaked down spinal channel, trickled down his chest. With a frustrated sigh, he wiped the back of a wet hand across his wet face.
When they finally stepped into a clearing and what appeared to be the edge of a village, Crockett made a visual sweep of the area. Realizing that he was under Castillo’s penetrating gaze, he frowned puzzled at his supervisor, then understood and dropped his head, assuming what he hoped conveyed a humble stance behind the lieutenant. But in his brief surveillance, he had caught a glimpse of huts to either side, and a sort of garden and courtyard ahead.
They walked along a path through the garden area. Abstract designs of statuary and carvings stared back at them from the side of the trail. Squawking of jungle birds interrupted the humans’ silence, and off in the distance animals chattered and yowled. One of the designs on the stone carvings looked familiar, and Crockett realized that he was seeing the same design in the raised scars tattooed on the shoulder-blade of the man ahead of him.
A high wall surrounded the courtyard. They entered the area, passing between two stone monoliths which guarded it, onto a flagstone floor. Fire niches flickered around the walls, and the sweet-sharp scent of incense drifted from censers on the floor. About half-way across the yard, the man in front motioned for them to stay, then continued on between a large fire-pit and a splashing fountain, and disappeared through a curtained doorway into an interior room. The five remaining men formed a half-circle around their charges.
Castillo removed his sunglasses, then glancing to the side in Crockett’s direction, whispered, “Kneel.”
Obligingly Crockett settled to his knees, but it wasn’t long before they began to ache in protest, and he wished for a more comfortable position. Standing beside him, Castillo’s straight back gave no indication of heat or fatigue or discomfort; Sonny felt limp and wet and dirty.
And the gurgling fountain made him realize how thirsty he was. His thirst and discomfort grew, and still their escort did not reappear. Stiffly he shifted position on his knees. He would rather be creeping through the jungle at Castillo’s side, searching for Rico, than kneeling here uselessly, waiting. At least then he would feel he was doing something active.
He caught a sidelong glance at one of their guards. How did these people sustain themselves? he wondered. What kind of lives did they lead when they weren’t inhaling drugs and performing god-knows-what erotic perverted rituals and capturing innocent prisoners?
And dammit, where was Rico?
“Marty,” he started to whisper, “where the hell…”
“Quiétate!” the lieutenant hissed, black eyes flashing fire at him. “Silencio, esclavo!”
Involuntarily Crockett winced, realizing that Martin’s words were meant primarily for the ears of their guards, but irrationally feeling slightly stung nevertheless. He wiped sweaty palms on white cotton-clad thighs. Why was this taking so damned long? Perversely he wondered if it was some kind of test to trap them.
Rico was nearby - he was sure of it. Maybe in one of those huts beyond the garden. So why the hell couldn’t they just get him and leave? why all this mystery and ceremony?
Then the man they had followed stepped into view again, and looked at Castillo. “Venga,” he pronounced.
Obligingly the lieutenant walked forward. Crockett pushed stiffly to his feet and followed, hobbling the first few steps from the pain in his cramped knees. Whether invited or not, he wasn’t going to remain behind. He didn’t dare leave Martin unescorted, or allow their bizarre hosts to separate them. Castillo and the escort neither prevented nor acknowledged him. Whatever. He’d play along - at least for the time being.
As they passed through the curtain, Crockett felt as if they had stepped into another world. They emerged into a chamber which seemed more a natural grotto than a man-made room. Torches flared in random spots around the rough rock-hewn walls, and smoky incense drifted throughout. In the shadows hovered shapes which, as Crockett’s eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, became statuary and pottery. Unlike the abstract designs of the outside carvings, these wore the grotesque mask-like faces of jungle gods or demons. Small crouching figures on the sculptures turned into small monkeys, but until one blinked, he wasn’t sure if they were real or not.
Across the room, through a veil of beaded strings, lay another chamber, lit dimly by smoky firelight.
“The holy of holies,” Crockett muttered irreverently.
Castillo only shot him a warning look, then hissed once more, “Kneel.”
Here we go again, Crockett thought to himself, dropping to his knees once more time, and knew that the lieutenant could read his mind as the intense gaze lingered on him.
Again they waited. Crockett began to feel light-headed. Was he swaying, or was it the room? Another dribble of sweat rolled down his back.
Suddenly he felt something sliding against his left thigh, and he looked down to see a fat green snake oozing its way along his leg.
“Gaa!” he cried out, scrambling back and landing clumsily on his rear. The reptile ignored his outburst, continuing to slither on its way, all twenty feet of it.
“Calm down!” Castillo hissed, and glared at Crockett again, and Crockett sank to his knees under the withering stare and bowed his head. But he couldn't hide the adrenalin shakes or the heaving breaths, as his heart thudded desperately in the prison of his rib-cage. Then glancing up, he saw another serpent draped over a high ledge; and involuntarily he hunkered down, imagining the thing dropping down on him. Beside him, Castillo didn’t seem the least perturbed, despite the fact that the snakes were big enough to consider them as lunch. God, he’d be glad when they got out of here and back to Miami. Unfortunately, right now Miami seemed a very long ways away.
Then finally from within the inner chamber, a dark hand parted the beaded strands, and a man emerged - a man with regal bearing and haughty face.
(to be continued)