He opened his cellphone to a missed text message from Detective Joe Bond via the Coast Guard.
-We have them. All safe.
He closed the message and dialed a number.
“This is Deputy Director Collins,” he said into the phone, “I want all satellites pointed at the Florida Keys. I want all boats tracked anywhere within ninety miles of this place.” He hung up.
“Okay, Chelsea,” he said tucking the phone into his pocket, “let’s go.”
“Okay, Chelsea,” he said tucking the phone into his pocket, “let’s go.”
43
Flaring Up
George Wyatt’s new boat chugged along about fifty-feet off the shore of Fort Jefferson. As difficult as it was, Troy managed to drag a line from the seaplane out to the newly christened Wyatt Load and then crank it in close with a winch attached to the barge.
The fifty-gallon drum of Jet-A fuel Troy had stashed on Wyatt’s oil rig had finally come in handy. Initially, they were in a rush to fill the plane’s empty tank, but the radio message from shore told them Chris Collins had rescued Chelsea. The bad news was that Vincent Pinzioni had escaped with the artifacts.
Chris assured Troy that he wouldn’t get far as the full weight of the C.I.A. machine was after him now. But Troy couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed his chance yet again. It was his wreck. He’d discovered it. He was entitled to the rights… but it was gone, back to the sea.
After loading the passengers onto the plane, R.B., Megan, Joe, and—unbelievably—the resurrected Natasha, Troy fired the engine up and taxied out into the open water. The gulf was calm today, belying the fact a tropical storm had come through only days before. Gidget lifted out of the water, freeing them all from their prison on the island.
“What’s that smell?” asked R.B., bringing Troy out of his funk.
“Joe had a bit of a tough time with the ride out to the fort,” he said, laughing, and puffed his cheeks up imitating a dry heave.
“Gross,” Megan said, pinching her nose.
“No worries, Joe,” —Natasha slapped him on the back— “happens to the best of us.”
Joe nodded, his lips pursed.
“Oh… ” she said leaning away from him, “you’re not gonna—”
She didn’t get the sentence out before Joe let go of another spew.
“Really?” R.B. asked.
Troy laughed as the passengers all scrambled to get away from the ill detective.
“You’re cleaning that up?” R.B. raised an eyebrow to Troy.
“I got it, I got it,” he said.
Ten minutes into their flight, Joe had exhausted his stomach and had fallen into a fitful sleep. Still, no one sat near him… just in case.
“What’s that down there?” R.B. asked, pointing. “At your ten o’clock.”
Troy craned his neck to see out the window. A boat was drifting in the water, no passengers visible. A thick smoke was drifting from its back end. Under the smoke, Troy could barely make out the words, Ocean Blue.
“Well I’ll be!” he exclaimed. “That’s Vince’s boat.”
“But where’s Vince?” R.B. asked.
“Might be down below working on the engine.”
“Good point. Swing in a little closer.”
Troy moved the stick and the plane angled into a soft bank down toward the boat. In a split second, Troy saw the man stick his head out of the lower hatch and aim the gun.
“Dangit!” he said, jerking the controls back and lifting the seaplane into a sharp climb.
Three shots pinged against the belly of the plane.
“Shit, get us out of here!” Natasha cried from the back.
“Workin’ on it, darlin’,” Troy said, fighting the wheel, but the plane refused to climb.
“What’s wrong?” R.B. demanded, “why aren’t you climbing?”
“I’m pullin’ up hard,” Troy said straining, “but she ain’t respondin’.”
“Dammit.” R.B. turned to look out at the wing above them.
A loose cable flapped roughly out of the back of the wing, severed from the flap.
“He’s cut the flap cable,” R.B. said. “We’re gonna have to put her down.”
“Double dangit!”
The plane shook as he turned her away from Vince’s boat and glided it down toward the water. Second crash landing in a day, Troy thought. I’m on fire.
Gidget splashed down harder than before as the flap made the descent a little rougher than his first landing. Joe Bond woke up on impact and jerked his gun out of his holster. He looked a little less green than before; the sleep had done him good.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded.
“Just a quick detour,” Troy said, taking off his headphones.
They had come down in circles with the wounded flap and more sharply than a normal landing. They ended up about fifty feet away from the Ocean Blue.
“Get down everybody,” Troy said, and crouched and shuffled into the back of the plane. “How many bullets you got in that thing, Joe?”
The detective checked the magazine. “Three.”
“Aw hell!” Troy peered out the closest window at the nearby boat.
Nothing. No sign of Vince. Smoke still poured out of the back of the boat. He must’ve been dead in the water.
Suddenly, three more shots pelted into the side of the plane. Glass shattered out of one of the windows and showered the passengers.
Joe jerked upright and aimed the pistol through the now open window. He fired off three shots, temporarily deafening everyone in the cabin.
“Really?” Troy had his hands over his ears. “All three shots? Just like that?”
Joe Bond shrugged and holstered the pistol. “I had a clear shot. I think I got him.”
Troy eased himself up and strained to look out at the boat.
Unbelievably, the current was closing the gap between the plane and the boat… and fast.
Vince popped his head up and fired again. More glass shattered and Megan screamed. The silence of an emptied gun filled the cabin of the seaplane.
Vince’s voice called over the water. “Ha ha! You out of bullets over there? Well, I got plenty over here and I’m gonna put one in everybody’s head over there.”
Troy took a quick look. The Ocean Blue was only twenty feet away now and still closing fast.
“Crap,” Troy mumbled.
“Everybody stay low and crawl toward the back of the plane,” Joe urged them, “and don’t give him anything to shoot at. If we’re lucky the current will change and he won’t be able to get a clear shot at us.”
“And if it doesn’t change?” Natasha asked.
He didn’t answer. They all army-crawled their way toward the back of Gidget.
“It’s all over now, Troy!” shouted Vince. “You got about three minutes before I sink you all to the bottom of the gulf.”
A crackling sound came from the cockpit. What now? Troy thought. Dadgum, the radio!
He put a finger to his lips and crawled as quickly as he could to the cockpit. He reached up to grab the headphones and a shot pinged through the glass and hit his left shoulder.
“Ow, shit, gosh-dangit!” he yelled and grabbed his shoulder.
“You okay, Troy?” R.B. called.
More shots ricocheted off the plane near the cockpit.
“I’m good,” he wheezed, “just scratched me. Didn’t go through.”
“Come on, T-Boy,” called Vince, his voice sounding like he must only be ten feet away now, “stick that head up again.”
“Gidget, this is the Wyatt Load,” came George Wyatt’s voice over the radio. “We’re picking up shots fired. Troy, you okay? What’s going on?”
More shots rang into the cockpit. Troy waited for the firing to stop and jumped up. He grabbed the headphones and dove to the floor. Glass shattered above his head and pelted into the metal sheeting of the seaplane.
He shoved the headphones on, and said, “Wyatt, we’re
dead in the water. Pinzioni is out here shootin’ up my plane. Get your ass over here!”
No answer. The radio was dead. One of the bullets must’ve pierced it and put it out of commission.
Dangit, Troy thought, wondering if his message had gotten through.
“Vince!” he called toward the shattered opening. “Don’t shoot. I’ll come up and you can take me. Don’t hurt anybody else.”
Vince’s laughter echoed up to the plane.
Shit! Troy thought he sounded as if he was right there, just a few feet away. If he made it to the plane, they were all dead.
“Yeah, yeah,” Vince said sarcastically, “stick your head up there again. I promise not to hurt anyone.”
Troy knew he was lying, but he decided to make a play of it to see if Vince would let him on the boat.
“Okay,” he yelled out the window, “I’m gonna open the door. Don’t shoot. I’ll come over and you can do whatever you want.”
“Deal,” Vince said shortly.
Troy crawled back toward the crouched passengers.
“You are not doing this!” R.B. hissed at him.
“He’s gonna kill us all,” Troy said, “gotta try something to distract him.”
“Troy, he’s just going to shoot you,” Natasha said, “and then climb on here and shoot all of us.”
“Let’s sit tight,” Joe said, and held his hand out, “wait for the cavalry to come. They’ll realize we’re not there and send out a boat.”
“Yeah right,” Troy said. “That could take hours and we’ll all be full of holes by then.”
Megan shifted and groaned.
Troy looked back at her. She rolled over and rubbed her back.
“Sorry,” she whispered, “something sharp keeps poking me in the back.”
“That’s the survival kit under there…” Troy’s voice drifted off. “… hand it to me and I’ll bandage up this should—”
His mind raced. “Quick,” he said, “give me that kit.”
R.B. arched his eyebrow.
Megan inched around and reached behind her back. She heaved the metal box out from under the seat and shoved it toward Troy. He opened it and pulled out a flare gun. A strange look crept onto R.B.’s face.
“I know what you’re thinking, Troy,” R.B. said, “but unfortunately, the aim with that thing is atrocious. You’d have to be super close to get him. And even then, it might not do very much damage.”
“It’s all we got, brother,” Troy said. He clicked the barrel back and looked inside the flare gun. “Dangit. One shot.” Closing it, he turned to R.B. “I’m goin’ out. And when I get over there, I’m gonna need a diversion of some sort.”
He tucked the gun into his waistband and took his Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat off his head. “Always did want to go out in a blaze of glory,” Troy said, smiling, and held out the hat to his brother. “Take care of this thing for me if I don’t come back.”
“That’s not gonna happen, bro,” R.B. said, “just aim for his head. If nothing else, you’ll blind him.”
Troy nodded and moved toward the door. In the distance, he heard a deep rumbling sound. Has the cavalry actually come through? He couldn’t tell, but they were pretty far off.
“Vince!” he called out the window, “I’m comin’ out. Don’t shoot!”
“You got it, T-Boy!” Vince answered.
Troy eased up to the door and worked the latch. He opened the door and put his hands out and up.
“Comin’ out now.”
“I gotcha covered,” Vince said.
His boat was three feet away from the pontoons on the plane. Troy hopped over onto the bow of the boat.
“No fast moves,” Vince said and sneered at him.
The rumbling sound was louder out here and Troy couldn’t help but look toward it. Running faster than he thought possible was the Wyatt Load. And it was bearing down on them fast. Hot damn, Troy thought, my message got through to Wyatt.
Unbelievably, Vince hadn’t noticed it until Troy looked in that direction. Must’ve had some ringing in his ears from all the gunfire. He jerked his head toward the boat and aimed his rifle. He fired repeatedly, bullets punching into the boat’s cabin.
Troy lifted his shirt and pulled out the flare gun. He raised it up and aimed directly at Vince’s head. He pulled the trigger. Red lightning shot out of the gun and punched Vince in the side of the head. He screamed and swung the rifle around at Troy. He jumped overboard, diving away as Vince fired over and over. He plunged down deep into the water and swam hard away from the boat. He heard the rifle’s muffle shots whizz nearby, and then it was silent.
He was out of bullets. Troy pushed hard to get to the other side of the plane and surfaced. Vince was screaming and still pulling the rifle’s trigger, but nothing was happening. His face was a shield of blood and his voice was ragged. The flare had done a number on him.
“I’m gonna frickin’ kill you!” he screamed.
And that’s when the Wyatt Load slammed into the Ocean Blue. Traveling at twenty knots, it shattered the smaller boat. Vince was thrown into the water as it nearly split his boat down the middle. The Wyatt Load never slowed, plowing through the boat and sending pieces of it flying. As it cleared through the wreckage, the hull began to list and take on water. Within seconds, the bulk of it was gone into the swirling deep.
The Wyatt Load eased to a stop. Troy swam around the plane and lifted himself up onto a pontoon. R.B. had climbed down and reached out to him, helping him up from the water. Troy held a hand over his eyes and peered out into the wreckage drifting by. No sign of Vince. He was gone. Back into the gulf with his ancestor’s boat.
“You okay?”
“Yup.”
“Good.” R.B. clapped him on the back.
Troy climbed up to look toward the Wyatt Load. It was making a long, slow turn back toward them.
“Think they’ll let us hitch a ride?” he asked R.B.
“I’m sure,” —he held out the straw cowboy hat— “but you better put this on. They won’t recognize you without it.”
Troy smiled and put the hat on his head.
He stretched out his hand and put his thumb in the air.
44
Light My Fire
“You sure about this, bro?” R.B. asked as Troy loaded his things into the back of a new pickup truck he’d bought off some tourist who’d decided to make a go at living in Key West.
“Yup,” he said, holding out his hand toward his brother, “I ain’t cut out to stay in one place very long.”
R.B. slapped his hand away and wrapped his arms around Troy. He pulled him in and gave him a bear hug. “You headin’ over to Pepe’s?” he asked.
“Yeah, gonna fill up the belly before I head out,” Troy said and got into his truck and fired it up.
R.B. tapped the top of the driver’s side door. “Okay, bro. Tell Megan I said Hi.”
“Will do.”
“And you know you can always come back.”
“I know,” Troy said as he pulled away.
“I’ll have the—”
“I know, I know,” —the waitress rolled her eyes at him— “pork chop covered steak.”
“Put it on my tab,” he said and winked at her.
“Uh huh,” she said, “you ain’t never gonna pay that tab.”
He opened his mouth, but Megan Simons interrupted him. “That’s okay. I’ll take care of it. His whole tab, that is.”
The waitress arched an eyebrow. “His whole tab?”
“Yes, the whole tab.”
“Okay, sweetie,” —the waitress walked back toward the kitchen— “but you might want to see the total first.”
Megan laughed. “How long have you been putting stuff on that check?”
“Hmmm,” Troy said, sipping a sweet tea, “maybe eight months.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh…”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay,” she said and smiled, “with my swanky new job at t
he shipwreck museum down here, I should be able to handle it. I just hope they don’t count the gold bars every night.”
Troy laughed. “Director, right?”
“That’s right,” she said, nodding.
“Who’s gonna run the Dolphin place?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging, “probably Chelsea. She’d be a good choice.”
“Ahhh, gotcha,” he said.
The waitress slid two plates of food in front of them and laid a strip of paper down beside Megan’s plate. She picked it up and scrolled down to the bottom.
“Holy crap, Troy!”
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.”
Shaking her head, she turned the paper over and laid it aside. “So, what’s gonna happen to R.B. and the Tortuga Adventures business?” she asked him, cutting a piece of steak off and blowing on it.
“Believe it or not, he’s gonna work with Joe Bond on getting his flying license,” he said. “He’s got some kind of military experience, so he should be a good fit.”
“He doesn’t want to be a cop anymore?”
“I guess not,” Troy said, chewing a bit. “They offered him a post out at Fort Jefferson… ya know, to fill the vacancies, but he said he was ready for something new.”
“Yeah, I heard they gave that post to Natasha.”
“At least for now. Until the C.I.A. needs her for something else.”
They ate in silence for a minute.
“Where will you go?” Megan put her fork down.
“Not too sure about that, darlin’,” Troy said. “Gonna head up the coast and see what calls out to me.”
He was surprised to see her eyes well up with tears.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll be back someday though. And besides, you’ll have R.B. to keep you company.”
She laughed and a tear fell onto her cheek. “That I do.”
“Who knows,” —he reached up and dried the tear— “if Wyatt’s new oil reserve turns out to be as big as he says, maybe I’ll work out on his rig. He said I always had a place to land out there.”
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 41