Treasure of the Deep by Aiden James, J. R. Rain Page A

how the hell does everyone know my middle name?”
    A large hand bearing jeweled rings on every finger shoved a small, thin piece of warped plastic toward me. My California driver’s license. I had buried it in the sand near our campsite for safekeeping. An old habit after years of coming back to a campsite to find my tent raided. That’s why I rarely bring anything of real value on a trip like this, but a license and passport are easy enough to conceal in almost any environment. I hoped my passport remained hidden near the roots of a thick palm nearest to our tent.
    “Er, thanks,” I said, hiding my surprise while taking my license from whomever it was chuckling sardonically in the darkness behind the blinding lights.
    By then, the dirty turban guys had already invaded the area and surrounded everyone with rifles pointed at each head. We were badly outnumbered.
    “It was a very bad idea for you to come, Mr. Caine,” said the man with the rich deep voice. His hand disappeared into the shadows, and I made out the top of a jeweled turban in the dimness. The turban would make anyone seem taller. But this man would be immense with or without his head cover. “It is even worse, however, that you have come to steal from me. It is a crime all of you will soon regret.”

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
    In less than five minutes, we went from the prospect of sunshine and finding a way off of the island to wondering if we’d still be alive at sundown.
    I assumed we’d all be rope-bound before the real pirates on the island escorted us to some old-time schooner, and then force us to walk the plank when far enough out to sea. But instead, they brought us to Badri’s cave encampment. The word encampment may seem like a strange description for the place, and maybe commune would be more fitting. But, in my mind, if one considered the several small adjacent cave rooms filled with enough weapons and explosive materials to blow the entire island sky-high, a descriptor like encampment seemed most appropriate. Not to mention, rows of tents lined the floor of the enormous cavern we were herded into, and sort of looked like a Union campsite during the American Civil War.
    The deep-throated guy who had made trespassing threats to me turned out to be the master and venerated lord of this underground hideout. Badri, as in badass, bad-tempered king of his band of anti-hygiene miscreants. I know...it’s not like Ishi and I get a chance to bathe routinely. But this cavern’s prevalent stench reminded me of when I once was forced to share a zoo shelter for a night back in graduate school with four camels and a dozen emus.
    Long story...
    Badri was dressed in clean attire, like the kids he must’ve sent to kill us upon our arrival in the treasure room. Instead of the Abercrombie & Fitch look the youngsters were wearing, he was dressed in a white, multi-layered robe and gold-rimmed turban that had a brilliant blue sapphire in its center—like some wannabe sultan from eons past. I will say the dude was handsome, with sleek facial features most women of any nationality would find alluring. But the eyes gave away his soulless condition and pointed to a violent disposition.
    I had no doubt he intended to kill us, and in the fashion Norema described the men of her village being lined up and shot, slaughtered as an afterthought. He must’ve picked up on Ishi’s and my deep disdain for the noxious smell—an odor that surely bothered him, as well. His spiced cologne was near overpowering as he strolled past us all. He glared at my Tawankan buddy and me the most while ignoring Norema, the kids, and ladies as we stood in a line near the entrance to his little tent kingdom.
    “ We haven’t had anyone foolish enough to pay us a visit in quite some time,” he said, sizing me up again. “Especially not someone who prefers women’s fashion. Do you know what we do to such individuals in the village I come from?”
    “ Let them go with a pocketful of