The Patriot Plan Devin Kerins Copyright © 2012 Devin Kerins All rights reserved. ISBN-10: 1468160699 ISBN-13: 978-1468160697 To my brother Sean, For being hugely responsible for my twisted sense of humor. Hope you enjoy, you sick puppy! Chapter One Cyril E. King Airport St Thomas, US Virgin Islands Monday, July 13 11:03, Atlantic Standard Time The American Airlines plane rolled to a stop at the lone terminal. The one story structure was surrounded by the picturesque green mountains and crystalline blue of the tiny Caribbean paradise. Eager vacationers restlessly stirred in their seats, excited to deplane and start their vacations. Two people didn’t seem to share in that enthusiasm. Mary and Henry Templeton stepped off the plane onto the gangway stairs. Upon leaving the discomfort of their seats in the rear of the plane, they were met by the wall of oppressive humidity and excessive heat emanating from the tarmac. “What kind of airport is this?” Mary whined in a nasally, Long Island accent. “I thought we’re still in the United States. How are they allowed to treat us like this? I have never had to walk down the stairs at an airport before!” Henry ignored his wife and took in the sights and sounds of the giggly college girls on vacation. He closed his eyes and imagined he was lounging on the beach with 5 Devin Kerins four or five of them in skimpy bikinis rubbing lotion over his stretch‐mark riddled stomach. Subconsciously he licked his lips. “Quit daydreaming and hurry up,” Mary ordered. Like the good, tortured husband he was, Henry fell into line, dragging behind him her carry‐on luggage that barely fit into the overhead compartment. That was always the case with them. Though he made a small fortune yearly as a vice president of a software manufacturing company, she clearly wore the pants in the relationship. When she barked, he jumped. What was worse was when she would degrade him in front of others. She dominated every aspect of their lives, including the bedroom – which was what led them to be landing in the tiny island of St. Thomas. She surprised him for his birthday with a reservation to the exclusive resort for couples into bondage and humiliation called Forced Retreat. Rumors and torrid tales surrounded Forced Retreat, ranging from the depraved acts that allegedly took place at the resort, to the mysterious owners themselves. Some say the owners were once spies and were now laying low. Some say they were involved in huge government conspiracies and this was their reward for silence. Whatever the case, one thing was certain for Henry Templeton – he would not be leaving the tiny territory of 6 The Patriot Plan the United States with his dignity intact. He still hadn’t figured out how this was a birthday present for him when he knew damn well she would be in control the entire trip. “Oh my gawd,” she exclaimed loudly. “Henry, come try some of this rum!” She offered him a tiny shot glass of Cruzan Rum. He meekly took it from her and slammed it back hard. When she wasn’t looking, he took four more shots. The young lady in a khaki Cruzan uniform smiled politely but stated, “Whipped bastard,” through her teeth. It was going to be a long week. He thanked God that at least on these islands quality alcohol was so inexpensive that it was even cheaper than cough medicine. Perhaps he could kill off the parts of his brain that formed short term memory with enough Rum Runners and Tequila Sunrises. He caught up to her as she was standing by the baggage carousel. “Henry, get the bags!” Before he could say anything, she had sauntered off to find a taxi. Henry peered around and caught a glimpse of the two young ladies who had been sitting across the aisle from him on the flight down. Their skirts seemed even shorter now. He couldn’t help but flash back to his fantasy of being pampered. “Henry!” Mary’s shrill voice bored through him. “Pay attention, you dumb ox! You just let my bag go by!” The 7 Devin Kerins young ladies looked at him and laughed to themselves. Mary ran over his feet with the wheels of her heavy suitcase. “Let’s go!” Henry fell into his subjugated place two steps behind her, clumsily trying to manage her five bags and his one as they walked out of the baggage claim into the blistering summer tropical sun. Mary waved at a cab driver who had been waiting for them. He stood next to a brightly colored jitney bus. “Okay,” she spoke loudly and slowly. “We want to go to the seaplane terminal. Do you understand me? The seaplane terminal,” she made airplane wings and a flying motion with her arms. Henry felt queasy with embarrassment. “Why are you talking to him like that?” “So he can understand me,” she snapped back. “But they speak English here,” he offered. “No they don’t!” She screeched. “Yes we do,” the taxi driver answered back in baritone and heavily accented voice, the devious smile never disappearing from his face. “Whatever,” she dismissed everyone. “Just take us there.” “Cuckold,” the taxi driver laughed as Henry got in the back of the modified pickup truck. Henry seethed. 8 The Patriot Plan The only customers in the taxi, Henry and Mary had no idea that the driver was taking them the extremely long route from the airport to the seaside terminal where the seaplanes landed. His route involved as many pot‐ holes, traffic jams, and potential opportunities for violent criminals to prey upon the unsuspecting New Yorkers as possible. “My gawd, this place is a dump,” Mary whined again as she looked around at some of the more rundown houses on the island. “How do people live like this?” “Please stop,” Henry begged. “They don’t deserve you criticizing them.” “But look around you,” she waved her arms. “I feel like we’re in a third world country. They’re not even driving on the right side of the road here!” That comment drew angry looks from a group of islanders walking along the road. “I expected more palm trees!” “We’re driving through town,” Henry pointed out. “And how can they stand the heat here?” She fanned herself frantically. “It’s unbearable.” When the driver couldn’t stand her voice any longer, he decided to just head directly for the seaplanes. Back at the airport, another plane landed and another group of tourists seeking fun, sun, and discounted liquor 9 Devin Kerins and tobacco ambled down the gangway. Like clockwork, several of them commented how they had never been to an airport where they had to walk down the stairs to get off the plane. The herd moved in unison to baggage claim. Some stopped for a shot of Cruzan rum or to listen to the man playing reggae versions of 1960’s hits on his electric guitar with a Casio keyboard providing pre‐programmed backup rhythm. But as the herd rounded the corner to pick up their bags, one olive skinned man broke off and continued on to the taxis. He carried only a backpack with a change of clothes and several fake passports. Everything he needed he would pick up on the island – and even that wasn’t much. His mission was simple: Get in, get it done, get out, and move on to the next target. Outside, an elderly man with short grey hair and a brightly flowered shirt stepped towards him, “Taxi, Mon?” “Please,” the man smiled. “Where you heading? The beach? Looking for women?” The taxi driver smiled. “I wish,” the man continued to smile back. “The seaplane dock, please.” “I can’t believe they asked how much I weigh,” Mary griped as they sat in plastic lawn chairs in the waiting area 10 The Patriot Plan of the seaplane dock in Frenchtown. The waiting area consisted of a ratty tent with no walls slung up over moldy plastic lawn furniture. Chickens ran free, clucking incessantly. “I can’t believe you lied,” Henry muttered. “I did not lie,” she protested. “When was the last time you actually weighed one hundred and fifty pounds?” The heat was getting to Henry and making him surly. He was sure she would punish him for this later. “Excuse me? I am so one hundred and fifty pounds.” “Sweetie,” he said guardedly, “they ask you that question for a reason. It’s not wise to lie about those things.” “But I wasn’t lying.” She folded her flabby arms and turned her head. “And I didn’t appreciate you whispering to the lady at the check‐in and telling her to multiply that by two.” She turned back to him and slapped him in the back of the head. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that!” Henry rubbed his head. The sound of an approaching jet engine caught his attention. Judging by the altitude of the landing plane, he surmised they were just about a mile from the airport. It should not have taken the thirty minutes to get here. If he was more of a man, he would have demanded his money back from the driver. 11 Devin Kerins Behind them, a ruggedly handsome, olive skinned Middle Eastern man massaged the bridge of his nose. Try as he might to block out the incessant yammering of the married couple in front of him, he could not. He checked his watch again, hoping that the seaplane would be early.