Abducted in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  He moved into the cockpit, fired up the engines, and motored toward the second jumper. He grabbed his compact Desert Eagle and slid it into the small of his back, just in case it wasn’t his friend.

  Jack slowed as he reached the figure in the water. He grabbed a powerful flashlight, stepped out, and shined it toward the second jumper. A smile came over his face. It was Logan. He was treading water and giving Jack a left-handed thumbs-up.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  My chute opened with a forceful yank of the ripcord. It unraveled, quickly caught the wind, and jerked me to a near stop. I’d been spinning frantically upon exiting the plane, and the whiplash nearly knocked me out. My mind was in a haze as I soared through the dark tropical air.

  Less than ten seconds after the chute deployed, I splashed hard into the water. The ocean overtook me, blanketing me in a veil of warm water. I sank like a rock, then kicked for the surface, careful not to get tangled in the risers and rigging lines.

  Breaking the surface, I exhaled and took in a few deep breaths of air. I was in pain, aching, and weary, but breathing. Somehow I’d managed to scrape out of the mess with my life.

  I looked straight up, then down at my floating parachute. If I’d pulled the cord a fraction of a second later, my splash landing would’ve been a much different and more painful story. I could’ve easily ended up paralyzed or dead.

  I looked off to the northwest. The plane was angling downward sharper and sharper. It was a black speck on the horizon, its flashing lights nearly all I could see.

  Suddenly, the darkness around me was illuminated by a solid beam of bright light. I shielded my eyes. My mind raced back to the last time I’d been strobed at night out on the water. Forty-eight hours earlier in the Gulf. The freighter. The night the whole shitstorm had begun.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t a freighter and it wasn’t an enemy.

  My eyes adjusted. The outline of a familiar boat came into view. The mental clarity was followed right after by the recognition of a figure standing along the starboard railing and aiming the light at me.

  It was Jack.

  I raised my left hand out of the water and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Then the smile on my face somehow managed to get even bigger. Stepping up toward him along the rail, I spotted a second figure. It was Scarlett. She was alive and well.

  She waved, and I waved back as Jack stepped into the cockpit and accelerated the trawler my way. I unclipped the harness with my left hand, my right throbbing in pain as my adrenaline wore off.

  Jack motored the trawler right beside me and I grabbed hold of the stern with my left hand.

  “Holy shit, bro,” Jack said, idling the engine and stepping out toward the stern. “Are you alright?”

  “Never better,” I said, my words shaky and rushed. “Give me a hand, will you? I’m down one.”

  Leaning over, they both helped me over and I flopped onto the dock, soaked, in pain, and weary.

  Atticus barked, ran over and licked my face. Scarlett jumped into my arms. She hugged me tight and buried her face into my chest. I patted the back of her head.

  “It’s alright,” I said. “Everything’s going to be alright. It’s all over now.”

  She couldn’t talk. She could barely breathe she was so emotional. Her reaction was more than understandable given what she’d experienced. A traumatizing ordeal. A painful wound that I hoped, with time, would heal.

  We sat embracing with my back against the transom while Jack pulled my harness up out of the water and gathered my chute. I heard a distant grumble from far out over the horizon. I directed my gaze over the starboard bow. The distant flashes of lights from the plane were no longer visible. The plane had crashed. Dante was dead. It was all over.

  I wonder if the sharks will enjoy the taste of him as much as they had his uncle. Whatever’s left of his body after the crash anyway.

  When Jack finished, he looked down at us.

  “I gotta tell ya, bro,” he said, “when you told me to stand by at this location, I didn’t expect to see you two parachuting out of a crashing plane.”

  He patted me on the back, then turned and headed into the cockpit to mark the position of the downed plane on the GPS.

  Scarlett’s breathing slowed a little. She loosened her grip, then pulled herself back a few inches and looked me in the eyes.

  “Thank you, Logan,” she said. Her eyes were filled with tears, her voice soft and innocent. “Thank you for coming for me.”

  I smiled, doing my best to ignore the pain in my hand, shoulder, and leg.

  “We didn’t think twice about it,” I said. “That was a nice move, by the way. Dante didn’t know what hit him.”

  She grinned. “Well, I learned from the best.”

  Jack stepped out of the cockpit holding his sat phone. He walked over and handed it to me.

  “I’m sure Ange is worried sick,” he said.

  I quickly dialed her number. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Jack, where are you?” Ange said frantically. “Did you see a pl—”

  “Ange, it’s me,” I said.

  “Logan? Oh, God, are you alright?”

  “Just fine. I’m on the trawler with Jack. And there’s someone else here who’d like to talk to you.”

  I handed the phone to Scarlett. More tears. More struggled words. They were both relieved and happy beyond comprehension.

  I leaned back against the transom and listened to them talk, my mouth unable to keep from smiling. Looking up at the big night sky, I took in a deep satisfying breath and let it out.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Cayo Jutias, Cuba

  I woke up naturally to the sound of waves lapping against the shore and palm leaves rustling in the breeze. I opened my eyes, blinked a few times.

  I was lying in a queen-sized bed with a white comforter. Ange lay beside me, her head resting on a pillow. Her face was angelic in the morning glow from the nearby open window.

  I kissed her forehead, then swung off the bed and planted my bare feet on the wood floor. Not wanting to wake her, I tiptoed into the living room then out the creaky front door.

  My soul smiled as I moved down the faded wooden steps and onto the fine warm sand. My body ached all over. I’d taken a number of solid punches over the past twenty-four hours. Not to mention a pellet to the leg and a stomping boot to the hand. But I’d been banged and battered more than my share of times over the years, and I always managed to bounce back. The human body is an incredible thing. It’s great at healing itself if given proper time, care, and treatment.

  I sauntered across the beach, heading for the surf. When the clear, warm water covered my feet, I looked out and took in a deep breath. It was nearly noon, the sun high overhead. And it was probably nearing ninety degrees, but the ocean breeze made it perfect.

  I bent down and splashed some seawater on my face with my left hand. My right index and middle fingers had been fractured by the thug’s stomping boot and were wrapped in splints.

  With the water dripping down my face, I rose and directed my gaze left, then right. Palm trees hugged the shoreline about a quarter of a mile in each direction. In between the surf and foliage was as beautiful a beach as could be found anywhere. A white sandy paradise with crystal clear waters lapping the shoreline, transitioning to turquoise and then dark blue on the horizon.

  The only break came in the form of a long, skinny dock just a hundred yards to my left. The trawler was tied off at the end.

  It was Heaven on earth. And I had it all to myself. There wasn’t another soul as far as the eye could see.

  The retreating waves buried my stoic feet in the wet sand. I pulled them free one at a time, then turned around and looked toward the place we’d spent the night. It was simple. A yellow-painted two-bedroom beach cottage with a thatched roof, a small porch, and hammock. No more than seven hundred square feet. Unassuming and off the beaten path.

  I closed my eyes and thought back to the previous evening.
After the final encounter with Dante Salazar and his gang, and after giving Scarlett her first spur-of-the-moment skydiving lesson, I’d contacted Sanchez via my sat phone. After I’d informed her of what all had happened, she’d directed us to meet her at a dock on Cayo Jutias, an island just a few miles northwest of Santa Lucía.

  It was after we’d met with her that she’d offered us a place to stay in one of the government’s safe houses. We’d all happily obliged. Arriving so late, we’d spent half an hour hugging and catching up before fatigue overtook us. We’d all crashed moments after switching off the lights. It had been dark, and we’d been so spent that we hadn’t realized that she’d put us up in a gorgeous haven.

  I walked along the shore, letting my mind wander and getting my blood flowing, my own form of carnal meditation. After traversing the beach from end to end, I made my way back to the cottage.

  Just as I reached the porch, I heard a car pull up and headed around to the driveway. I passed by a small shed and spotted a few beach chairs and colorful kayaks through the cracks in the wood.

  Out front, a white sedan pulled into view. It had a blue strobe light on its roof and a Cuban police emblem on the front two doors. It parked alongside a 1950s Chevy truck that had been commandeered from Dante and his thugs by Ange the previous evening after they shot up the Jeep’s engine. The driver’s side door of the sedan opened and Sanchez stepped out.

  She was wearing her white button-up, black pants, and dark sunglasses. A second officer dressed in full uniform, who I recognized from the previous evening, stepped out from the passenger side and leaned against the car while Sanchez strode toward me.

  “Glad I didn’t wake you,” she said. “Figured I’d give you all some time to recuperate after the day you had yesterday.”

  I smiled faintly, then motioned toward the house.

  “Thank you,” I said. “The place is perfect.”

  “It’s the least we could do.”

  Sanchez motioned toward the other officer, who grabbed two large bags from the back of the car. Walking over, he set them in the shade of a palm tree beside me. Sanchez told me that it was Ange’s and my dive gear. We’d told them where it was the previous evening and they’d tracked it down on the sailboat.

  I thanked her and we stood in silence for a few seconds. Then her phone buzzed, she checked the screen, then slid it back into her pocket.

  “So, what happens now?” I said.

  “With Dante out of the picture, and with the dent you guys made, the western faction of the gang will likely die off. And the eastern… well, we’re working on it.”

  “That’s good to hear. But it’s not exactly what I meant.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the other officer, then looked back at me. Her lips formed the closest thing I imagined they ever did to a smile.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” she said. “When it comes to you and your wife, I’d just as soon leave your involvement off the record. If that’s alright with you.”

  I was taken aback by her words. I’d fully expected to be neck-deep in interviews, statements, and government red tape for at least a few weeks. After all, we’d entered the country illegally and had racked up a significant body count.

  “So, that’s it, then?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  She nodded. “That’s it.”

  She extended her right hand. Glancing down and remembering that mine was bandaged up, she switched to her left, and we shook.

  “Thanks again,” she said. “I guess I may have misjudged you. We may have differing strategies, you and I, but I have to admit that you two did a good job here.”

  I thanked her as well. She sure didn’t have to go to such lengths to get us off the hook.

  She glanced at the cottage, then back at me.

  “The fridge and pantry are both stocked,” she said. “Feel free to stay the week, Dodge. It’s the least I can do.” She motioned toward the parked Chevy and added, “This truck’s yours as long as you like. Just leave it here whenever you leave. And don’t worry about your jeep rental. We’ll take care of the damage.”

  She turned, walked back to her squad car, and opened the driver’s-side door. Before getting in, she said, “You two were never here. Got that?”

  I nodded.

  “And don’t let your experiences yesterday paint Cuba in too negative a light,” she added. “I love my country. It is full of beautiful places and beautiful people. I wouldn’t think of living anywhere else.”

  I waved as she climbed in, started the engine, and drove out of sight down the sandy road.

  THIRTY-NINE

  I picked up the bags of dive gear, turned around, and headed for the cottage. I froze when I spotted Ange standing in front of the open front door. Her ninja-like stealth abilities never ceased to amaze me.

  “I heard the car pull up,” she said. “What’s the deal? They chucking us into Guantanamo?”

  I chuckled.

  She moved down to the bottom step, and I met her there, our heights evened out.

  “Looks like we’re in the clear.”

  We smiled at each other, kissed, then I dropped the gear and we hugged. Her body felt good pressed against mine.

  I heard shuffling feet and watched Atticus trot into view. Even he’d slept more than usual, but he jumped with enthusiasm when he met us at the porch. While hugging Ange, I reached around and petted my fun-loving pooch.

  I loosened my grip on Ange and said, “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  After stowing the gear, we migrated to the kitchen. Sanchez hadn’t been kidding. The place was freshly stocked with everything we needed, and there was enough to last well over a week.

  We cooked up some granola-banana pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs and started up the coffeemaker. The smell caused even the heavy-sleeping Jack to stir on the living room couch.

  Halfway through eating, Jack looked out one of the ocean-facing windows and said, “So, what’s the plan for today?”

  I answered without hesitating. “I spotted a few beach chairs in a shed beside the cottage.”

  My beach bum friend smiled and took another massive bite of syrup-drenched pancake.

  “I think he approves,” Ange said with a big grin.

  After eating, we cleaned up, then dragged out the beach chairs and umbrellas and filled a cooler with ice and drinks. It was a perfect day. A slight breeze and just a few scattered clouds from horizon to horizon.

  Scarlett woke up and stepped down onto the sand an hour later. She squinted and rubbed her eyes as she walked toward us. She’d showered and changed into the extra clothes in the closet and was wearing black shorts and a white tank top.

  She looked good. And she looked even better after eating leftover breakfast to her heart’s content and spending the afternoon relaxing in our own private paradise.

  We swam, kayaked, and lounged in the sun until the sun sank into the ocean. While watching the natural evening spectacle, Ange and I curled up on one of the beach chairs. We stared in awe as the sky transitioned from vibrant yellows up high to deep oranges near the horizon, the distant glowing orb sending a blanket of streaking light that sparkled over the surface of the water.

  I kissed Ange on the forehead, then smiled at her.

  “What?” she said softly, not needing to look away from the view to see that there was something on my mind.

  “Remember a few nights ago when we were listening to the Wayward Suns at Conch Haven?”

  “Tough to forget,” she giggled.

  “You’d mentioned that we were due for a trip.”

  I looked up and down at the long beach surrounding us. Glanced at Scarlett, who was playing with Atticus in the sand. Spotted Jack walking toward us from up the beach, carrying a sack of coconuts in one hand and a machete in the other.

  “This count?” I added.

  She smiled, turned and kissed me.

  “I’d say that it does.”

  We spent two more days at the
secret middle-of-nowhere beach cottage. We spent our time hanging out at the beach, kayaking, snorkeling in a nearby cove, and relaxing under the tropical sun.

  By the morning of the third day, we knew that it was time for us to leave. Jack missed his nephew and Lauren, who’d been looking after the seventeen-year-old while he was gone. Ange and I were excited to be back home and in the States. And most importantly, Scarlett’s case manager had been calling us every day for a status update on when we’d have her back. We’d told her that she’d run into some trouble abroad and that we were handling it but left out all the specifics.

  We cleaned up the cottage, tidied up the grounds, then climbed aboard the trawler. We plotted the straightforward two-hundred-mile jump across the Straits of Florida back to Key West. After a quick call to Sanchez to let her know we were leaving, Jack started up the engines and we cast off. He had us rumbling out to sea within minutes, and I watched as our temporary beach paradise grew smaller in the distance. It was bittersweet.

  All good things must come to an end, I thought.

  Then I turned and shifted my gaze forward at Ange and Scarlett, who were laughing up on the bow with Atticus.

  Some are simply replaced by other good things.

  EPILOGUE

  It felt good to be home. Back to our anything but usual “routine.” Back to days out on the water, morning workouts, fresh seafood, and nights on the town.

  After returning from Cuba, we’d spent one more day with Scarlett before calling her children’s group home in Miami. She hadn’t exactly been ecstatic about having to go back, and it was hard to see her go. We’d formed a strong bond in the short time we’d known her. She was a special girl, and Ange and I both decided that we wanted to pursue adoption.

  It’s a long process. We were informed by Scarlett’s counselor that it usually takes around a year for a prospective parent to jump through all the hoops. A ten-week preparation course, background checks, home studies and various other mandatory training.