Caribbean Heat: The Curse of Gonzaga

By Joseph Tatner

An unknown curse. A lost ship. A forgotten treasure. Welcome to the Caribbean.
Five hundred years ago, two families in the Court of Spain feuded with each other behind the scenes, each trying to destroy the other. Don Cristobal succeeded in leading Captain Gonzaga to his death in the New World, but not before he uttered a curse as his Spanish vessel sank beneath the Caribbean waves. Five centuries later, two American friends are caught up in the curse as the House of Gonzaga gets its revenge. On a SCUBA diving adventure in the Caribbean, Jack Brophy and his friend Ben Carballo retrieve several seashells, only to find they are actually crusted-over golden doubloons from the lost Gonzaga ship. The two return to seek more of the coins, only to become entangled in a web of lies, bullets and blood, as unknown parties seek to kill them for some unknown reason. Betrayed by friends at every turn, will they make it out alive? This ain't no pleasure cruise!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Tatner
• Release date: Apr 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9780990864639

Joseph Tatner

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by Joseph Tatner

Copyright 2015 by Joseph Tatner

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First edition, September 2014

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s own warped imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (whether living or dead) is purely coincidental. Nothing in this book is intended to disrespect or disparage any person, place or thing. Knowledge of military hardware and development is based on open source material and this book reveals no known state secrets. Any similarity of the events in this book to an actual Caribbean adventure is pure coincidence and would probably be more than you could handle.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Start

Review

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Check out the Floyd & Mikki: Zombie Hunters series!

Dedication

About the Author

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

Capitán! Mira!

Captain Luis Gonzaga followed the direction of the lookout’s pointing finger. He searched the horizon, but could see nothing through the glare of the hot sun reflecting off the bright blue waters. Probably another whale, he thought to himself. As he made it up the stairs to the aft deck, the crew could tell he was in a most foul mood.

The sun was oppressive in these waters, and humidity glued the clothes to one’s body. Fresh water was too precious to waste on luxuries like bathing, and the captain had long ago run out of body powder. He was beginning to gag on his own stench. As if that wasn’t bad enough, one of his ill-cleaned crew had brought lice aboard and in the close confines of the ship, the cursed little demons had infested everyone, with regard for neither rank nor position. Once more, he pulled the stopper from his little rock crystal vial and dabbed his mustache with perfume, to mask the foul odor of the crew. The vial was nearly empty.

He pondered his situation and cursed his luck as he strode over to the wooden rail of his ship, small brass telescope in hand. The King of Spain had done him no great favor in assigning this task, and he knew he would be lucky indeed to see it through alive. The captain cursed his luck again. This was no place for a gentleman such as he!

At least he was finally beginning the return voyage home. He prayed it would all go well, but had serious doubts. The cursed English Sea Dogs had recently begun raiding Spanish ships in this area, and he was in the heart of their territory. So far, there had been no sign of any trouble, but there was no guarantee that the Sangre de Cristo’s fortune would continue.

Nor would the ship’s lack of precious cargo protect them. The only wealth aboard was the coins used to pay the crew and purchase provisions, but any English pirates would have already boarded before learning the hold was virtually empty, save for a few barrels of molasses. By then, it would be too late. It was highly unlikely they would leave the ship intact and wish its crew a fond farewell. No, the ship would be taken or sunk and the crew slaughtered.

Although the two countries were not officially at war, no Spanish ship was safe from English pirates, who grew more brazen each day. With Queen Elizabeth’s recent seizure of all Spanish merchant ships docked in English ports, it could not be much longer before Spain retaliated. The English would lose their smugness soon enough, when the Spanish Fleet arrived in all its might and glory.

Captain Gonzaga looked forward to returning here at the helm of one of those mighty war vessels, along with his two sons, who also captained Spanish ships. The Sangre de Cristo was as fine a galleas as ever there was, but she was still old and her cannons were far too small to be of much use in a large-scale war. In the meantime, the captain prayed that Don Cristóbal’s plan would provide a means for Spanish merchants to safely traverse the area until the Great Armada could put an end to English arrogance on the seas.

Don Cristóbal! Luis scratched at his pointed goatee as he fumed yet again at the thought of his hated rival! His enemy had had long been seeking an opportunity to ruin the House of Gonzaga, and this crazy plan he had sold the King of Spain just might do it. Luis was of noble stock and had served the king well for many a year, but this was the most foolish plan he had ever heard! Still, he could scarcely refuse the king, no matter how foolhardy or suicidal the quest. Luis held the telescope up to his eye once more as he peered out over the ocean, lost in angry thought.

Don Cristóbal’s plan had sounded simple enough. Due to the heavy pirate activity in these waters, the Sangre de Cristo would fly the black flag with the white skull that was all too common in the area. If all went well, any pirates they encountered would take the Sangre de Cristo for an ally, and she would be allowed to proceed without engagement. Don Cristóbal himself swore to apprise the Spanish Governor in the New World of the plan, via the merchant vessels which would be sailing ahead of Captain Luis. As Luis had suspected and feared, however, Don Cristóbal never attempted to notify anyone.

Madre de Dios! he shouted. Raising the dolphin-shaped gold whistle to his lips, he blew a loud blast and ordered, "Carlos! Lower the black flag! Raise the Royal Colors of Spain! Rapido!"

It was too late. The Spanish warship had hidden its approach well in the glare of the rising sun. Luis could see white puffs of smoke erupting from the side of the other vessel, even as he finished giving the order. Then, several rapid whistlings split the air. Next came the shock of cannonballs smashing into the hull, sending everyone staggering. The sound of the cannon fire arrived a few moments afterward.

Raise the Royal Colors! the captain shouted again. Then he heard the sound of his own tiny cannons returning fire. No! he screamed as he ran below, shouting at the crew to stop firing on the other Spanish vessel. He ordered everyone above, just as the hull exploded only yards away, blasted asunder by an incoming cannonball. Two of the small cannons and several of the men manning them were blown into oblivion.

Luis ran back up the steps just in time to see a great chunk blown out of the main mast. The flag of the Spanish royal family, which his crewman had so desperately tried to raise, fluttered off on the breeze and landed in the ocean. Men were screaming all around, sprinting back and forth across the deck, wild eyes filled with terror, as they tried to catch the wind for a successful retreat. Even the priest ran up on deck to beg the Captain to do something.

It was too late. The weakened mast snapped and with a loud crack it toppled backwards as men scrambled to get out of the way. Luis turned in time to see it fall, but not in time to avoid it. He tried jumping aside, but was crushed into the deck by one of the spars.

"Dios mio! the sailors cried. We are sinking! We are sinking!"

Curse you, Don Cristóbal! Luis shouted. Damn your black soul to hell!

Do not curse, Luis! cried the alarmed priest. Do not die with a curse upon your lips!

I care not what happens to me, God! Do you hear me? Luis called out again. I care only that Don Cristóbal pay for his crimes! I curse that son of a bastard child and all who may profit from his deception! Let such treachery not go unpunished! I call upon the Devil himself to torture his black soul for all eternity! Already the salty water was creeping up the increasingly tilted deck, reaching Luis’ chin as he lay pinned beneath the mast.

Forgive him Lord! He knows not what he is saying! cried the priest as the water covered Luis’ head. Forgive us all!

Luis raised a clenched fist at the heavens as the waters covered him over. The priest traced a cross in the air over the frantic crew, then crossed himself as the sea reached up to embrace his chest. He splashed around looking for anything that would float, but there was nothing nearby that would save him. He had always hated the sea, but obeyed dutifully when assigned to the Sangre de Cristo.

Along with the rest of the crew, the priest slipped beneath the surface of the waves, and the ship was seen no more. Other than Don Cristóbal himself, no one would ever know what had happened to the Sangre de Cristo—not even the crew of the Spanish warship that sank her.

CHAPTER TWO

C’mon, Ben!

No.

Look, how often do you get the chance to go parasailing, for God’s sake?

No.

Look, if you’re afraid of heights, I can understand that. Hell, I’m afraid of heights, but I’m going!

I’m not afraid of heights.

Then why don’t you want to go?

I just don’t, that’s all. I don’t need a reason.

Goddammit, Ben! This is probably the only chance you’ll ever get to do this! Hell, I’ll even pay for it!

No.

Jack knew it was no use. His little friend usually needed some coaxing, even for things he really wanted to do. In this case, Jack could tell he’d never get Ben up in the air, strapped to an overgrown kite. To be honest, Jack didn’t like the idea much either when he thought about it, but their cruise ship had stopped in Jamaica, and knew he’d never get the chance again anytime soon. He was determined to try it out, but didn’t want to be the only one going.

Forget it, Jack! You’ve got as much chance of getting Ben to go parasailing as I’ve got to get Bobby on the dance floor! laughed an overly chipper Claire. Her husband, Bobby Fredericks, was notoriously reluctant when it came to Claire’s desire to dance. The two were in their mid-thirties and ran a pretty successful business recording and selling videos of lectures at medical conventions around the United States.

Jack would help Bobby out whenever his bearded mentor needed a hand. They had traveled throughout the country together, but this was their first trip in a long time that was strictly for pleasure. Everyone was determined to enjoy it—each in his or her own way. Ben’s way definitely did not include parasailing.

Claire was lounging about in her new bikini, sipping rum, when she wasn’t spending over the limit of one of her husband’s credit cards. Bobby himself had downed more than his share of Caribbean overproof, and couldn’t be budged from any place he happened to drop. When he wasn’t running laps around the deck or working out in the ship’s weight room, Jack was working on his already golden tan and doing his best to stay faithful to the wife he left back in California (she had to cancel out at the last minute when she couldn’t get off of work). Ben was...well, Ben was Ben, and always would be.

Jack and Ben had known each other since high school, when they were thrown together as partners in a first aid class. The instructor, Mr. Cassidy, remarked more than once that if anyone had to rely on Jack or Ben for first aid, they’d better say their prayers, because only God could help them. One or the other of them usually ended up looking like a mummy, even if they were just supposed to splint a finger. The two had continued on to college together and had never grown apart.

They were an odd couple at best. Jack was six foot tall and muscular with long, curly brown hair. Ben was barely five foot four, with black hair cut at the collar, a thick black mustache, and a face like a frog. Jack was Irish while Ben’s father immigrated to the US from Mexico. Jack was outspoken and freewheeling, while Ben was a quiet chemist who overanalyzed everything. Whoever said oil and vinegar don’t mix never met Jack and Ben. Although they each made a sport of getting on each other’s nerves, nothing could ever come between them.

OK, how about you, Claire? You’ve been parasailing before! Jack pleaded, still in pursuit of a willing accomplice.

Me? No, thank you! I went in Cabo San Lucas where they take you right off the beach. I wouldn’t trust those guys to take me off of that little raft! And look at the way the guy’s driving that little boat around! He’s crazy!

How about you Bobby?

Bobby smiled pleasantly through an alcoholic haze and said, I may be drunk, but I’m not that drunk! You’re not getting me up in the air on anything with less than four big engines and a stewardess with free drinks! Sorry pal! You’re on your own. Why don’t you just stay with us and relax? Have a daiquiri! Tomorrow we’ll be in Saint Thomas and we’ll all go diving again.

That’s why I want to go parasailing now! We went diving all day yesterday and we’ll be doing the same thing again tomorrow. I love diving, but I’d like a little variety, you know?

Hey, Jack! Claire chirped, If you want to go, just go! Ben can stay here and take a picture of you up in the air.

Are you sure? He still hasn’t figured out that damned camera of his, countered Jack.

I have too! Ben insisted defensively. I just need to finish loading the film.

You’ve been working on loading that film for ten minutes now. What’s taking so long? Jack queried.

I just want to make sure I do it right.

I told you to just buy a digital camera.

Digital cameras aren’t as good as film.

Whatever! I’m outta here! Take a picture of me when I get up in the air.

He’ll take a picture when you fall to your death, too! Bobby shouted, laughing, as Jack headed out to the motorboat where the driver was looking for more victims—er, customers.

Thanks! Jack shouted back over his shoulder as he ran. If I fall, I’ll make sure I land on you!

If you do, don’t spill my drink! Bobby yelled, as Jack splashed his way out to the motor boat.

Hey, Mon! You wanna try da parasail? asked a thin black Jamaican from his boat.

How much? Jack queried.

Real bahgain, mon! Only fiftee dollah!

Fifty? Too much for me.

Fiftee? No, mon! I mean it’s usually fiftee. Today is special! Only t’irty fi’ dollah! Real cheap price, mon!

Sorry, I only got thirty on me, Jack lied.

Well, da boss mon prob’ly gon’ kill me, but OK! I take you for t’irty dollah! Cash up front, mon.

Jack reached into the little webbed pocket of his bathing trunks and handed over thirty dollars. As he climbed into the boat, the smiling Jamaican snatched the cash and shouted, Hold on, mon!

With a deafening roar, the motorboat shot away from the beach. Jack managed to grab the metal railing just in time to keep from being knocked off of his feet. He continued to hold on for dear life until the bouncing boat made it out to the little wooden raft. Miraculously, the little boat did not turn over.

When they made it to the little twenty-foot-square raft, Jack was somewhat surprised to see that he was not the only tourist ready to give it a try. It also seemed the man who had ferried him out to the raft would not be towing the line that would take him up into the air. Jack had to admit he felt somewhat relieved by that.

Ten others were already crowded onto the tiny raft. Six of them got into the little boat that Jack had just exited and headed back to shore. A nineteen-year-old girl was nervously pleading with the other motorboat captain to take it easy on her, as another Jamaican helped her into the harness.

Jack watched as she stepped into the straps and pulled them up over her shoulders. The Jamaican man snapped the rigging together with a thick, wide waist band and showed her where to hang on. Already the wind had the ten-by-four-foot parachute billowing fully open behind her. Once the end of a neatly coiled cord at the edge of the raft was snapped to the harness, the girl was ready.

With her fellow collegiates cheering her on, the other motorboat took off. The rope uncoiled faithfully as the boat left the little raft behind. Suddenly, the rope went tight and the girl went screaming up into the air. Despite her earlier pleadings to the contrary—or rather because of them—the motorboat captain spun her around all over the ocean, up and down the beach. The poor girl did nothing but scream, while her friends did nothing but laugh.

After providing her with about ten minutes of sheer terror, the driver finally slowed down and neared the raft. The crew reached out for the slackening line and snapped it into a little pulley at the front of the raft to guide her safely back to the platform. It was a simple