Agents In Harms Way by Don Winslow Page B

their port side, undoubtedly Mexico, she reasoned. But the ship stayed well away from that coast, and each day they headed further south. It time, the girl speculated that they must be going to South America, a guess confirmed when Kip managed to get a glimpse of a navigation chart which showed the western coast of Colombia.
     
    ***
     
    Once they were well at sea, life aboard the yacht quickly fell into a routine. The Captain declared that all aboard had to pull their own weight on his ship. That included their “passengers.” The three women, lightly clad in the shorts and work shirts worn by the crew, were to keep the yacht neat and tidy to the Captain’s exacting standards. Daily chores were assigned to them, often the dirtiest work on the boat: cleaning the galley and the latrines, and scrubbing the deck and fittings, work that often had to be done on hands and knees, under close supervision of a male crewmember. Meghan Dillon worked alongside them, and sometimes the three women had the chance for whispered conversation outside the earshot of the lurking crewmen.
    If their chores took them on deck in the heat of the tropical day, the girls, like the bare-chested crewmen, worked in nothing but a pair of shorts. ‘No false modesty here,’ the Captain assured them with his usual bland smile. Since, by that time, every inch of their bodies had been well scrutinized, as well as used, by the over-sexed crew, it seemed silly to insist on covering oneself up, especially when it was so much more pleasant to work outdoors bare-breasted, freely exposed to the gentle warmth of the breeze. Only the ubiquitous strip of ribbon at their throats told of their special status among the crew.
    Of course, once the sun went down, there were other duties to perform, duties of a more personal sort. Then they would shed their sweaty work clothes, and after cleaning up and “dressing,” they were expected to appear at the Captain’s table, transformed into their role of pleasure toys for the men of the Big Wizz , forced to serve the men who supervised every aspect of their shipboard life.
    At first, they continued to eat in the crowded galley with the cook, but in time they were invited to sit at the table — once the men had been served. There they served at the Captain’s pleasure, taking seats at his table, if it pleased him. The topless girls were allowed to eat with the crew, and by now all trace of embarrassment at being nude in this rough male company had long vanished.
     
    ***
     
    Mallory was busy scrubbing the galley floor on hands and knees when something caused her to freeze, scrub brush suspended in mid-air. Her head shot up, cocked to one side to listen — but it was not a noise that startled her, but the sudden, all-encompassing silence. For the first time in weeks, the constant throb of the engines was no more. During the last few days they had been tantalized by the sight of lush green land, but rather then head inward, the yacht had slowed its pace and kept a measured distance, trolling along on a southerly course, cautiously feeling its way down the jagged coast. In the eerie silence, Mallory tossed the scrub brush into the bucket, jumped up, and rushed to the nearest porthole just in time to see a small boat detaching itself from a makeshift pier that jutted out towards them.
    She could make out three men in the boat: All three wore khaki uniforms; two of them, muscular men with thick mustaches, and tousled mops of hair under their soft military caps; the third figure, smaller, more compact was seated in the rear of the boat, clutching a brief case with both hands, and sitting erect with an air of overweening self-importance. He wore some kind of officer’s uniform, complete with peaked hat pulled down low over his eyes.
    Now a commotion broke out topside; hurried feet pounded along the deck overhead; and there was the sound of a crowd thumping down the ladder. Suddenly the door behind her burst open, and Kip and