by Matthew Rief
When we reached the end of the corridor and took the first few steps, our eyes grew wide as we heard the sound of gunshots echoing from up ahead. The three of us glanced at each other, then picked up the pace, taking the old stairs three at a time before coming to a stop and peeking through the opening above.
We switched our flashlights off and stealthily crawled out through the opening in the flagstone and into the dirt. The gunshots persisted, rattling over the morning air as we glanced up at the top of the hole. When we didn’t see anyone, we turned and strode for the ladder. I reached it first, grabbing the rungs and moving up as quickly and quietly as I could. Still holding Jefe’s revolver in my right hand, I reached the top and aimed it over the edge, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. My eyes darted back and forth, and I saw a handful of Jefe’s thugs lying dead in the dirt surrounding the same dark blue Mil Mi-38 transport helicopter Jefe had arrived on the previous day.
I watched as the few remaining thugs still on their feet ran for cover, only to be struck down by their unknown enemies in the dense jungle surrounding them. Bullets struck them from all directions, and within seconds they were all gone. The scene turned ghostly quiet as I kept to cover at the edge of the hole. I felt uneasy coming out and letting my guard down with so many unknown soldiers surrounding me.
My trepidations were quelled in an instant as I saw the figure of a woman appear from the jungle, followed closely behind by two men. Even from so far away, I could tell instantly that it was Ange, Scott, and Jack.
For the first time in what felt like ages, a smile came over my face. I grabbed onto the top rungs and stepped up onto the dirt-covered surface. After a quick look around to make sure they’d taken down all of the bad guys, I dropped my revolver to the dirt and ran over to Ange. She ran as well, her face lighting up like the fireworks we’d watched while moored beside Islamorada on New Year’s Eve.
My heart pounded in excitement as she jumped into my arms. I held her close, wrapping my dirty arms around her lower body and propping her in the air. Even tired and covered in sweat, she looked amazing, and I didn’t waste a second before I locked my lips to hers. For a few seconds, the whole world faded and it was just the two of us in all of existence. I reveled in the passion of the moment and the warmth of her body against mine.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when I finally lowered her back to the ground. She shifted her head back, slid a few stray strands of blond hair from her tanned face, and looked up at me with her beautiful blue eyes.
“That’s the last time I’ll ever leave you alone again,” she said, smiling playfully.
She was joking, I knew. But there was something in her eyes, something in her mannerisms and tone of voice that made me realize there was a deeper meaning to her words. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t know what to say back, so I smiled back at her and wrapped my arms around her lean, sexy frame.
THIRTY-FOUR
It wasn’t until late afternoon that I was finally able to get away and get some rest. I was tired. More tired than I’d been since my adrenaline-filled rampage on Loggerhead Key last August. With the Baia in the boatyard for repairs, I rode in the passenger seat of my Tacoma as Ange drove us over to my house on Palmetto Street.
Turning into the gravel driveway, she parked under the stilted light gray house with white trim, and we both stepped out. Heading up the stairs on the right side, we reached the wraparound porch, and I took a quick peek out the back, making sure that everything was in order and nothing looked unusual before I disengaged the security system and we stepped inside.
I felt like I hadn’t been home in forever. I realized that it had been a few weeks, since I’d spent every night on either the Baia or the Calypso while looking for the pirate wreck before being taken by Black Venom. The house always felt bigger than its seventeen hundred square feet. It had a large, open living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the palm trees, green grass, and the channel in my backyard. Glancing through the windows, I scanned over a covered boat lift that housed my twenty-two-foot Robalo center-console.
As I headed for the kitchen, Ange placed a hand on my chest and said, “Oh, no, you don’t.” She grabbed me softly by my shirt, steered me towards the master bedroom, and playfully pushed me between the shoulder blades. “You shower and change and I’ll make food. Just don’t fall asleep in the shower.” I mumbled a few incoherent words and she spoke over them, adding, “And if you have any regard for my sense of smell, you’ll throw that tee shirt in the trash.”
The hot water cascading down over my sore, tired body felt amazing. After spending what felt like an eternity washing off the dirt and grime, I turned off the water, then toweled off. After a quick and much-needed shave, I felt refreshed as I stepped out into my walk-in closet and picked out a pair of comfortable workout shorts and a cutoff Dive Curaçao shirt. The unmistakable smell of grilled lobster and shrimp wafted down the hall and into my nostrils. My legs guided the rest of my body towards the smell instinctively, and I arrived back in the kitchen just as Ange plated the food.
After stuffing my stomach full of delicious seafood, I hit the sack and didn’t stir until just after sunrise the following morning. There was a lot I had to do. I knew that the aftermath of what had happened on Lignumvitae Key and on the Yellow Rose would drag on for months. Thankfully, I had Scott and Charles to back me up and help me sift through all of the government protocols. I spent an entire week giving statements and helping with the recovery and exploration of Shadow’s treasure trove. I’d never much cared for dealing with the government, and to the surprise of most everyone I met, I didn’t care about the treasure. The truth was, I’d searched for the wreck and treasure out of pure excitement. The thrill of the discovery and the history behind it all were what interested me most. I harbored no hopes of obtaining any monetary gain, and thankfully, from what I’d received for finding the Aztec treasure and from my years of working as an expensive gun for hire, I didn’t really need it.
Luckily Frank stepped in and took over the project on Lignumvitae, allowing me to get back to at least a somewhat normal routine. Ange and I ran every morning, usually making a loop through downtown and around Fort Zachary Taylor State Park before heading back to the house. I fished with Jack a few times a week. Ange and I went diving every other day. And we spent much of our time hanging out with Pete over at his restaurant and entertaining him with stories about my capture, Ange’s search, and our discovery of the treasure trove.
The Yellow Rose, it turned out, was privately owned outright by members of Black Venom. The beautiful yacht was confiscated by Uncle Sam and taken to a shipyard up near Fort Myers. As for the treasure, it was claimed by the United States, Spain, and England, each nation making the argument that it belonged to them. I stayed clear of the fight and wished only for a few coins from the treasure for my own personal humble collection of trinkets.
In March, a few weeks after the events on Lignumvitae, I was sitting on my backyard patio on a warm Sunday afternoon. Jimmy Buffett filled the air as I sat on a wicker chair cleaning my Sig, MP5N, and Lapua sniper rifle. Ange was in the yard doing a long series of difficult yoga poses when she was disturbed by my favorite neighbor.
“Atticus!” she said, dropping softly to the grass and wrapping her hands around the ears of the energetic yellow Lab.
He sprawled out on the grass beside her, rolled onto his side, and enjoyed the scratches. After a minute with Ange, he rose to his feet, trotted over to me, and dropped the tennis ball from his mouth onto the ground beside my chair. Setting my Lapua and cleaning rag on the wicker table beside me, I snatched the tennis ball. I tried to fake him out a few times, pretending to throw it left and then right, but like the fictional character for whom he was named, Atticus was smart. He didn’t budge. The only parts of his body that moved were his eyes as they tracked the bright yellow ball with fighter pilot precision.
Bringing it back, I tossed the ball far into my backyard towards the chan
nel. It bounced twice before ricocheting off the wooden barrier along the edge of the channel beside my boat shed. Just before the rubber ball rolled to a stop on the grass, Atticus engulfed it in his mouth, then performed a somewhat graceful U-turn and ran triumphantly back towards me, his slobbery prize barely visible behind his lips and canines.
Dropping the soaked ball at my feet, he looked up and gave me an is that the best you got? look.
I grinned back at him. Atticus had been coming over to my yard every day I was home since my neighbor had gotten him five months earlier. I looked forward to his visits, and I was always amazed by how well behaved he was for such a young dog. My neighbor had told me he wasn’t even a year old yet. Just a puppy.
I shook my head at him and performed a few full-range-of-motion circles with my right shoulder, loosening it up a bit. He dropped his upper body down, bent his hind legs, and looked up eagerly, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Bending over, I grabbed the ball with a four-seam fastball grip, reared it back, and chucked it as far as I could from a seated position. The ball rocketed through the air, flying right over the channel wall and splashing into the water over fifty feet beyond it.
Ange, who’d been watching with a craned neck from her upward dog position, laughed as Atticus sprinted across my yard. As he neared the wall, he didn’t slow or hesitate for a second. With reckless abandon, he hurled himself over the wall and disappeared from my view. A second later, I heard a splash as he hit the water five feet below.
“Logan!” Ange said playfully as she smiled at me.
I raised a hand and chuckled. “He’s fine.”
Fortunately there weren’t any boats motoring in or out of the channel, something I should have checked before throwing it. A minute later, I heard his paws on the metal steps that led down to my boat below. He appeared, soaked, and ran across the grass back towards me. Before he’d gotten halfway there, I called his name and told him to dry off out there. Somehow he understood, and instead of showering me with drops of water like most wet dogs do to their owners, he listened and took a few moments to shake off what he could.
After half an hour of playing, I filled a bowl with water and set it on the grass beside me. Atticus drank half of it, then sprawled out on his belly beside me. He looked relaxed and content, his ears and head only rising when he heard footsteps approach from the direction of my neighbor’s house.
An average-height man wearing tan slacks and a gray button-up who looked about my age walked with a smooth gait around the blue fence and hedges, heading straight towards me. He had curly black hair and skin paler than a piece of printer paper. Before he was halfway across my lawn, he waved.
Atticus jumped to his feet and ran towards the guy, stopping at his feet to be petted.
“Hey, boy,” the guy said. Then he looked up at me. “Logan Dodge?” he said, continuing to walk towards me. He carried himself well and spoke articulately.
I rose from my chair.
Before I replied, he added, “I’m Josh Peterson. Whit’s son.”
Whit Peterson had lived next door since I’d bought the place almost a year earlier. And though we didn’t know each other well, all of our interactions had been good, and of course I always enjoyed having his dog come over.
I extended my hand. “It’s good to meet you. This is Angelina Fox.” I motioned towards her, and she smiled and nodded at him. “How’s Whit? I haven’t seen him around town much lately. Heard he’s visiting up north for some reason.”
Josh nodded. “He came up to Cincinnati to see me and…” He paused for a moment. “And to get better treatment.”
“I didn’t know that he was sick,” I said, shifting my tone.
“Cancer,” Josh said. “Dad didn’t like to draw attention, though. It was much worse than he let on.” There was a short moment of silence as he looked down at Atticus, then sighed. “He passed away a few days ago. I’m here to take care of his things. I’m his only child, and he didn’t have any living siblings, so it’s gonna take me a few days to get his affairs in order.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “He was a good man. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”
He smiled softly. “Maybe there is something you can do.” I shrugged and he added, “I live in a high-rise condo in the city and work long hours at a hospital.” Then he glanced back at Atticus. “He really seems to like you.”
After another twenty minutes of talking, I told Josh that if he needed anything else, I was willing to help, and then he walked back around the hedges. I placed a hand on Atticus’s still-damp head. For the first time in my life, I was a dog owner. For some reason, the feeling of settling down hit me even harder than when I’d bought the house. But as I watched Ange play with Atticus in the yard, I knew that my adventures were far from being over.
When I sat back down in my chair, my iPhone indicated that I’d received a message. I hadn’t heard any word from Cesar or his men since they disappeared into the Gulf, but when I read the text, I knew instantly who it was from.
“We found him,” was all it said.
EPILOGUE
Koh Samui, Thailand
Two Weeks Later
I stepped out of the soft crashing waves and onto a sandy beach lined with palm trees. It was just past twenty-one hundred, and Thailand’s second-largest island was cast with a degree of darkness that only a new moon can provide. I slogged up onto a narrow shoreline and used the cover of the trees to change out of my dry suit, stow it in a black leather shoulder bag, and towel off my hair. I was wearing a gray suit underneath with a white button-up. The place I was going had a dress code, and I wanted to look the part. After sliding into a pair of black loafers, I clipped a ballpoint pen Ange had given me into my breast pocket, then grabbed my leather bag and headed south along the beach.
After a few short strides, I saw lights bleeding through the palm leaves and heard voices not far off. Rounding a particularly large palm, I stepped onto a wide-open section of beach with a few scattered tables right by the surf. They were covered in white tablecloths, lit by strands of romantic outdoor lighting, and arranged among blooming flowers and elegant fountains in the distance.
Without hesitating, I moved towards the table closest to the beach, which had the only empty seat in the place. Grabbing hold of the wooden seat, I dragged it back a few inches through the fine white sand. Ben Kincaid sat in the other chair. He was wearing a black button-up with silver slacks, and his blond hair was slicked back. As I stepped around the chair, set my leather bag on the sand beside me, and sat down, we made eye contact for the first time. In an instant, he went from being relaxed and happy to looking like he’d just seen a ghost.
“What the hell?” was all his vocal cords could muster as his right hand gravitated to something near his waist. A second later, after blinking a few times and realizing that he wasn’t in a dream, he added, “You’re… you’re alive. How in the hell are you alive?”
I pressed my heels into the sand, sat up slightly, and nudged the chair in closer to the table. Leaning back, I kept myself cool and composed, while my old friend looked like a spooked animal. I knew that he had a hand on some kind of weapon, but my Sig was holstered out of sight near my right hip, and I knew that I could put a bullet in his chest in half a second if I needed to.
“Wine, sir?” the waiter said as he moved in beside me. He was a Thai man. He spoke elegantly, wore a black suit, and had great posture.
I glanced at the bottle of Dom Perignon that had a vintage date of 1998 and would probably set Ben back over four hundred bucks.
“No,” Ben spat. “He isn’t staying. I have company arriving any minute now.”
“The plans have changed,” I said. “Miss Ankana will not be coming tonight. And I’d love a glass.”
Ben looked furious, but the waiter nodded, grabbed the bottle, and filled the champagne glass resting on the table in front of me. As the waiter walked off, I casually grabbed the glass and took a sip. I’d
never been a big fan of wine, but I actually enjoyed its sleek, mouthwatering flavor.
“I have people here,” Ben said, narrowing his gaze. “People I’ve hired to protect me.”
I grinned. “You have me just drowning in fear.” Taking another sip, I added, “Something tells me your people won’t be coming to your rescue anytime soon.”
His eyes grew wide as I set the glass on the table.
“I’m just curious about one thing,” I said. “How much money did they give you, anyway?”
He smiled arrogantly. “Two million.”
I shook my head. “So that’s the cost of your integrity.” I grabbed the glass, raised it in the air, and said, “To protecting and serving.”
He sat frozen as I finished off the champagne. Then, leaning over the table, he said, “You’re not going to kill me.”
Time slowed as his eyes revealed his next move. His right hand twitched, and I leaned towards him. In a flash of movement, his hand appeared above the table, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of a six-inch tanto knife. He stabbed the blade towards the side of my face, and just before being impaled, I snatched his wrist and redirected his strength. The sharp steel drove into the wooden table in front of me, causing the glasses and silverware to chime. Before Ben could retaliate, I leaned to my right, snatched a pair of handcuffs from the front flap of my leather bag, and locked one of the cuffs around his left ankle. The ratchet teeth clicked as it tightened, cutting off his circulation.
Ben dislodged his knife, looked at me furiously, then scanned over the table and looked towards our feet.
“What the fuck,” he said, shaking his leg and clanging the metal. “One handcuff, Logan, really?”
He brought the knife back and for a second he thought about trying to stab me again. Then he froze and cocked his head.