by Matthew Rief
“We’ve been tracking his movements, Jefe,” Felix replied. “We have a plan to take him.”
The old man sighed and narrowed his gaze.
“A plan?” he grunted, then cleared his throat and leaned in closer to the camera. “You left Cartagena ten days ago. You should have him on my doorstep in chains by now.”
“It’s not that simple with him. He’s highly trained, and so are many of his friends. If you sweep in and try to grab him, we’ll lose a handful of men in the process.”
Felix left out the fact that he’d just lost two of his men, not wanting to anger the cartel leader any further.
Jefe waved a hand in the air. “He’s already killed more than a handful. I don’t want excuses, and I don’t want any more planning. I want Logan Dodge, Felix. And if you can’t bring him to me … well, then I might have to start looking for a new second-in-command.”
The message was received loud and clear. Before Felix had even replied, the leader of Black Venom disappeared, his image replaced by a solid black screen. A new anger surged within Felix as he thought over the words Jefe had said.
“Who in the hell does he think he is?” he said to himself.
He thought about all of the years he’d spent killing, struggling, hustling, and putting his neck on the line for Jefe and all of Black Venom. For the leader to go and say that he’d replace him if he couldn’t come through struck a chord deep within Felix’s psyche.
“Cesar!” Felix yelled towards the door.
A second later, the door slid open and a tall, muscular man stepped inside. He walked with strong, confident strides and had dark hair cut close to his tanned scalp and a black tattoo around his left eye.
“Yes, Felix,” Cesar said, walking right up to him.
“How is the plan coming along?”
“As we’d hoped,” Cesar replied. “We have a taker, and he’s willing to do the job for half what we’d budgeted.”
Felix nodded. “Good. And the chloroform?”
Cesar paused a moment, then said, “We decided on something a little… stronger.”
As Felix opened his mouth to ask what he meant, Cesar stepped out into the hall and came back holding a large plastic hard case. Setting the case on the table in front of them, he unclasped the hinges and pulled out a strange-looking long-barreled rifle. Then he grabbed a dart from a clear case and held it out in front of Felix.
“It’s the ones they use to take down elephants in Africa,” Cesar said with a grin. “He won’t know what the hell hit him.”
THIRTEEN
After an early lunch at Navigator’s, we hopped back aboard the Baia and cruised around the island into Conch Harbor Marina. We spent the rest of the afternoon narrowing our search grid to an area surrounding the location where Jack had found the cannonball. Our digital replication of the seafloor had many hits from the mag nearby, some small and some large enough to be significant remnants of a pirate ship.
We all knew, however, that just because we’d potentially found a remnant of the wreck, it didn’t mean that our search was close to being over.
“It could take years to find the entire haul in open water like that, bro,” Jack said. “Remember the Atocha? The Spanish galleon that was sunk by a massive cane back in the 1600s over by the Marquesas Keys? Well, she was discovered in 1985, and it took years to find everything. Hell, the salvage crew believes there are still artifacts down there to this day.”
I nodded. “The important thing is that we get closer every day. Today it’s a cannonball. Tomorrow? Maybe a cannon, or a block of gold doubloons.”
We also talked about the massive elephant in the room and how exactly we planned to deal with them. The last thing I wanted was to put anyone in danger, especially considering that Jack had a young nephew at home. Sliding my cell phone out of my pocket, I sat on the transom, slid my legs over so that I was facing over the stern, and dialed one of the few numbers I knew by heart.
Scott Cooper, my division officer back when I’d first arrived at my SEAL team in the Navy, answered on the second ring. Scott is one of the greatest warriors and one of the smartest guys I know. Before joining the Navy, he’d been a Rhodes Scholar, and after his service, he’d pursued a career in politics. Currently, he’s a senator representing the state of Florida, and though he’s a busy man and spends most of his time in Washington, D.C., we always have each other’s backs when trouble comes.
I told him everything. About the dagger, the pirate ship, and about Black Venom. We talked for almost thirty minutes, and he told me that he would do everything that he could to help, starting with a call to CIA Deputy Director Wilson to see if there had been any recent tracking of the cartel’s movements in the States.
When I ended the call, I joined the others, who were huddled around the laptop, and we worked and relaxed on the deck until the sun went down. After Jack headed home just after eight o’clock, Ange and I sprawled out on the sunbed and drank a few Paradise Sunset beers while watching the goings-on in the marina.
The marina was pretty busy, and almost every slip was occupied. What I loved about sitting out on the boat and people watching in the marina was the diversity; we saw everyone from local fishermen and charter captains to weekend warriors to adventurers making a pit stop in their sailboat on their trip around the world.
Ange snapped me from my thoughts as she said, “You know, you were right when you said Black Venom isn’t going to back down.”
I nodded. “Which is why we need to be cautious and alert at all times until we take them out.”
Ange paused for a moment, looking off into the distance.
“What?” I said, sensing that she had something on her mind.
She sighed. “Look, I’m as hard-headed as anyone, and the last girl in the world to back down from a fight. But maybe it isn’t the best idea to be here right now.”
I chuckled. “What? You think I should fly around the world and lay low someplace in Asia until everything cools off?”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying it might be a good idea. I don’t know why they waited so long to come after you, but right now, you’re a sitting duck here in the Keys.”
“We’ll be careful, okay?” I said.
“I’ve heard that before. What did Scott say?”
I told her the gist of our conversation, and though Scott helping us out made her feel a little better, I could tell that she was still concerned. It was strange; I’d known Ange for a while and hadn’t ever known her to be the worried type. I wondered if it had to do with our relationship. We’d been sort of dating, on-again, off-again, for a few years, but the past five months, we’d been almost inseparable, spending practically every minute of every day together. I could feel our relationship heading toward the next level, and my instincts told me that she could feel it too.
The truth was she made a lot of sense. Though I wanted to find the pirate ship and treasure, staying in the Keys was a major risk. But I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. I’d taken care of Black Venom before, and I could do it again.
When the clock neared midnight, Ange slid off the sunbed and seductively stepped down into the salon, sliding out of her tank top and shorts and smiling back at me wearing nothing but her bikini bottom. I followed close behind her, killing the outside lights, locking the door, and turning on the security system before joining her in the bed. For one night at least, we forgot about the dangers threatening us and enjoyed each other’s company as if nothing had happened.
FOURTEEN
The following morning, I woke up naturally to the morning sunlight bleeding in through the partly open hatch overhead. After a quick breakfast and shower, we were met by Jack, Salty Pete, and Professor Frank Murchison, who’d just arrived in the Keys the previous evening.
“I think it’s high time I see this piece in person,” Frank said, grinning at me under the shade of a beige sun hat. He wore a pair of olive-green shorts, flip-flops, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of s
unglasses with a thick blue strap to keep them from falling. He generally looked more like a beach bum than a respected college professor to a passerby on the street.
I reached to my right hip, where the dagger was stashed, then handed it to Frank. Grabbing it eagerly but carefully, he unrolled the leather, his eyes lighting up as he gazed upon it in real life for the first time. After admiring the design for a few seconds, he trained his eyes on the inscription, lifting up his sunglasses to get a better look.
Frank smiled. “I’ve traveled all over the world to find artifacts, and here you are, finding them just a few miles from where I teach.”
“If you think that’s cool,” Jack said, stepping onto the swim platform and over the transom, “what until you see what we found a few nights ago.”
He disappeared into the salon and came out a few seconds later, holding the cannonball in his hands. It caused both Frank’s and Pete’s eyes to grow wide and their mouths to noticeably drop.
“You boys have got to be kidding me,” Pete said. “Where did you find that?”
Jack walked over to the transom and hauled the six-pound ball of iron into Pete’s hands.
As Pete examined it, Jack said, “Florida Bay, about a half mile south from where the dagger was found. Pulled it out of the water just the other night.”
“Was that before or after you were attacked by Black Venom?” Pete asked.
I glanced over at Jack, who was looking at me, and he gave a slight nod of his head.
“I told them, bro,” he said. “I figured it was best that they know as soon as possible.”
“You’re right about that,” I said, then added, “I’m surprised you guys still want to go out on the water with us.”
“What? And miss an opportunity like this?” Pete said. “I’ve been diving and salvaging and searching for anything and everything in the Keys since before you three were born. I’ve never come close to finding anything like this. You kids realize how rare it is to find a genuine Golden Age pirate ship?”
“Pete’s right,” Frank said, still admiring the dagger and cannonball. “And besides, I think if this Black Venom is still hanging around in the Keys, what safer place could there be than with a former SEAL and the most deadly sniper on earth?”
Ange grinned. “I’m far from the most deadly,” she said, making her best attempt at modesty.
“You’re not a very good liar, Miss Fox,” Pete said, then turned his attention back to the cannonball. “Well, I can tell you that this is an English cannonball. You can tell from this marking here.” He pointed to the arrow we’d noticed earlier. It was faded, worn down, and difficult to see, but still somewhat distinct. “And it feels like a six-pounder, which most cannons aboard a seventeenth-century English schooner would have fired.”
I nodded, hanging on every word that he said. Between Pete and Frank, they probably had more experience and knowledge of history and the Keys than any other two men combined.
“What do you make of the symbol beside the name and date?” Ange said, motioning toward the dagger in Frank’s hands.
Frank glanced back down at it, then looked closer.
“Huh,” he said, looking at the small carved symbol. “I’d never even noticed that before.”
“We think it might be a heart,” Jack said. “And it would make sense, given the story.”
“Could be,” Frank said. “I’ll have to examine it more thoroughly.”
“Well, let’s get a move on,” I said. “We’re burning daylight, and there’s a pirate shipwreck out there calling my name.”
We decided to take the Calypso, since it had a significant amount more space and we hoped it would also be less attractive to potential thugs who might be keeping an eye out for my Baia. Using one of the marina’s metal carts, I transported the magnetometer along with Ange and my BCDs, wetsuits, fins, and masks over to Jack’s boat.
Down in the salon, I grabbed my black CamelBak, then moved into the main cabin and loaded up an extra Sig and a few more magazines from my safe before locking it back up. Ange and I stowed a few changes of clothes in a Mexican-style sack before locking up and heading over to the Calypso.
The Calypso, Jack’s forty-five-foot Sea Ray, was a great boat, with plenty of deck space for him to accommodate a large group out on the water. After stowing our gear and untying the lines, the five of us sat up on the bridge as Jack brought her out of the marina. On the trip over to our search area in Florida Bay, we gave Frank and Pete a rundown of what we’d done so far, showing them all of our mag hits on the computer. I was glad to have them with us. Not only were they both incredibly experienced and knowledgeable, but they’d bring a few fresh pairs of eyes to our search.
As Jack sat at the helm, Ange and I routinely found ourselves glancing at the horizon in all directions, making sure no one was following us. Though we’d enjoyed relaxing the previous evening, the atmosphere was different out on the water. Our guards were up, and we were no longer able to fully engross ourselves in the excitement of searching for the wreck.
At 1000, Jack slowed the Calypso to a stop and dropped anchor at the location where he’d found the cannonball the previous evening. Since the water was roughly twenty feet deep and we wanted to take our time searching the nearby seafloor, we decided to don full scuba gear.
Ange and I stayed topside for the first dive, helping everyone with their gear, though no one needed it. Everyone on board was an experienced diver and had themselves ready to go in just a few minutes, but we did a buddy check anyway. Carrying various equipment with them, including a few handheld metal detectors, they jumped one at a time into the crystal-clear water. Jack was the last one to drop beneath the waves, reminding me that they’d be down for approximately one hour—that was, if they didn’t find anything significant enough to cause them to surface.
The water was relatively calm as their bodies became blurry through the water, leaving behind a trail of bubbles. Needless to say, they weren’t down for an hour. Ange and I cracked open a few cans of iced tea and were just about to get comfortable up on the bridge when we heard a faint splash, followed by the sound of Pete’s voice echoing across the late-morning air.
“Hey, take a look at this!” he said, his voice booming and filled with excitement.
Ange and I stood up, looked down from up in the bridge, and saw Pete floating just aft of the swim platform. He had a big smile on his face and held up what looked like an ordinary rock in his hands.
“A rock?” Ange said, chuckling a little.
“You kids.” Pete shook his head. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what this is?”
“A ballast stone,” I said, trying to defend my generation.
Pete’s smile returned. “Yep, and there’s hundreds more. It’s safe to say you guys have found yourselves a wreck.”
Ange elbowed me playfully and called me a kiss-up, causing me to laugh as I focused my gaze on the stone in Pete’s hands. The truth was, it had been a lucky guess. I knew old ships carried stones in their hulls to keep them from swaying back and forth too much but had never seen one in person.
If Pete was right, and I had no doubt that he was, we’d found a wreck. But the question as to what wreck we’d found still remained.
We spent the rest of the day diving and exploring every inch of seafloor surrounding the spot where Jack had found the cannonball. Over the course of our search, we found more ballast stones, corroded silverware, a few more cannonballs, and hundreds of musket balls. There are few things I find more exciting in life than the feeling of diving along the seafloor, discovering a hit with a handheld metal detector, and digging into the sand, only to find an artifact that’s been lost beneath the waves for hundreds of years. It gave me the chills and overcame me with a feeling I hadn’t felt since laying eyes upon the lost German U-boat for the first time, and the subsequent weeks I’d spent exploring it.
As the sun dropped down beneath the waves, we decided to call it a day. We disassembled our scuba gear,
washed it all down, and met up on the bridge for a humble dinner of leftover fish, cheese, and crackers. Of course, being the renaissance man that he was, Pete had come prepared, grabbing an aged bottle of Captain Morgan from a case in his gear bag.
“To one of the most interesting days I’ve ever spent in the Keys,” he said after filling us each a glass and raising his high into the air. “I only wish we could have found a sealed bottle of Golden Age pirate rum. That would be the day.”
As we ate, I couldn’t help but admire the haul we’d brought up in just a single day of diving. Many of the artifacts lay sprawled out on a beach towel on the deck just beside our feet.
“I think we might be getting closer to the heart of this ship,” Jack said. “We were finding more and more artifacts as the day progressed.”
“I think,” Frank said, clearing his throat, “that we’ve probably already found it. Though it will be hard to tell for sure, since hundreds of years of tides, storms, and currents could spread a wreck like that over miles.”
Jack looked at the professor, confused. “What do you mean, we’ve probably already found it? I know it’s been years, but we should see at least some remains of the hull, right?”
Pete laughed and answered for Frank. “What he means is that this wreck is buried. We’ll need to get ourselves a mailbox to blow all of the sand and sediment away. Should work nicely on this boat.”
A mailbox is a large metal shroud that bends to form a ninety-degree angle and can be used to direct a boat’s prop wash downward, where it can blow sediment away and reveal heavier objects underneath. Using it would save countless hours that would otherwise have to be spent manually sifting through mountains of sand.
“You really think this could be the Crescent?” Ange asked, looking primarily at Frank.
The enthusiastic professor grinned. “I’m almost certain of it,” he said. “Now all we’ve got to do is identify it. And hopefully soon we’ll start hauling up doubloons instead of rusted old forks.”