Interlude With A Conquistador
Trouble below the horizon
Meanwhile, two hundred miles to the south, don Juan Ponce deLeon sits on board his big trimaran El Condor Pasa, idly scratching the back of the leggy blonde lying naked beside him. Ponce is thinking about money ( how to get the most with the least possible effort) and he is thinking about a girl, the one who got away, the stunning redhead with the unfrocked priest of a father , the girl who haunts his memory, the girl who got away.
Go Ponce! Run ye lad! Thou of the noble heart and dark soul, ye of the piratical practice and many-connected Carribbean yearnings. Run Ponce! Uncle Sam seeks ye still, thou cannot steal from him a much-coveted high tech sailing vessel clothed in ancient Mayan symbols and stylings...oh lad, it was so easy to perform one small miracle for thy government and reap the many-numbered reward! But the worm shall turn, thou crafty rascal, the worm shall turn; and much shall be thy suffering for thy many transgressions.
And so: South of Ruby Beach sits Ponce de Leon, caressing the back of the beautiful blonde girl stolen from the Cuban pirates who chose to challenge his luck and skill at high seas combat. Foolish communistas! When the powerful United States government pays their vassal NASA to build a sailboat for the purpose of spying around the Caribbean, trust not your criminal heritage. Is not Ponce de Leon the greatest conquistador of all the ages? Once mighty rulers of the open ocean; the Grand Armada ruled the old time waterways all along the Spanish Main. Now? A laser cannon on board a simple sailboat? Aha! Ponce the mighty, Ponce the crafty, Oh noble Ponce, savior of political hostages, raider of communist strong holds, who will end your reign? Ponce the assassin, taking care of the world’s darkest needs, moving silently and without mercy through the hateful underworld of planetary government; fulfilling the wishes of those dark Overlords who are in true control of the finances and machinations of poor old Mother Earth!
And meanwhile, two hundred miles to the south of sweet, simple Ruby Beach, sits Don Juan Ponce de Leon, atomic-powered, laser-armed and on board an incredible seventy-foot trimaran styled after the ancient vessels of the Mayans, stroking the back of a beautiful golden blonde, brooding over money and revenge. In Ruby Beach lies the map he seeks. The answer to the riddle that haunts him, the map to the treasure of all treasures. How many, old knight? How many lives lost over the centuries? Ponce knows, yet cares not. Ponce is on a mission. To Ruby Beach.
