Showdown in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  If I’d won the lottery, my excitement wouldn’t match Atticus’s upon seeing me. And we’d only been apart for less than twelve hours.

  Man’s best friend indeed.

  Jack chuckled as he headed up the stairs. A few inches shorter than my six-two, he had a lean, wiry frame and curly blond hair. He was wearing boardshorts and a windbreaker. The dim light from the moon cast a glow over his face, revealing big eyes and an even bigger smile. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Sorry about not calling first,” he said.

  I waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. We just don’t exactly get a lot of visitors at four in the morning. This is the Keys, after all.”

  He motioned toward my holstered Sig. “You still on edge after what happened in Cuba?”

  I nodded.

  “That was six months ago, bro. You’d think they’d have done something by now if they were going to.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  I wasn’t about to sit back and let my guard down. Just not the way I’m wired. After eight years as a SEAL, six years working as a mercenary, and three years of dangerous adventures in southern Florida, I liked to live my life on the prepared side of the spectrum. Over the past few years, I’d made an impressive list of enemies. Powerful and ruthless enemies. And some of them still had a heartbeat.

  Still petting Atticus as Jack reached me, I greeted my old friend, then looked toward his Jeep. There were two paddleboards sticking up out of the backseat.

  “What’s with the SUPs?” I asked. “And what’s with you being up and at it so early?”

  His smile somehow managed to broaden.

  “They’re surfboards, bro.”

  I shook my head in confusion.

  “I’ve got some big news,” he added, motioning motioned toward the front of the house. “Come on; I’ll tell you and Ange together.”

  We headed around the porch, then peeked into the master bedroom through the partly open window. My wife, Angelina, lay on the king-sized bed. She had our white comforter draped over her, and her head buried in a feather pillow.

  “She’s sure a heavy sleeper,” Jack said.

  “She’s not asleep,” I stated.

  Jack chuckled. “You sure about that, bro?”

  “He’s positive,” Ange said, loud enough for us to hear her outside. Her body remained perfectly still.

  I smiled at Jack’s astonishment. “Told you.”

  I stepped over and opened the bedroom door. As we moved in, Ange rolled over and propped herself onto an elbow. She didn’t look groggy, but alert. Woken up by Jack’s Jeep and ready for anything.

  She looked at us with her radiant blue eyes. Her smooth tanned skin and silky blond hair looked great in the moonlight. Then again, it always looked great.

  “Who is this impostor and where’s the real Jack?” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be asleep for another five hours at least?”

  “Normally, yes,” Jack said. “You know how much I need my beauty sleep. We can’t all get it so naturally as you, Ange.” He winked at her.

  “Seriously, man,” I said, “did the islands freeze over without our knowing about it?”

  Jack Rubio had been one of my best friends since we were kids. Back in ’88, my dad, a Navy diver, got orders to Naval Station, Key West. Jack and I met on a charter that year and became quick friends, spending nearly every afternoon out on the water. Boating, fishing, freediving, and exploring the many uncharted islands that comprise the archipelago.

  He owned and operated Rubio Charters, a diving and fishing charter company based out of Key West. Though a hard worker, he’d never been an early riser. Usually, I was the one having to drag him out of bed. The guy didn’t even own a watch. He’d also lived on island time his entire life.

  “Conditions are ripe to ride the unicorn,” he said, his face still beaming. “And I heard that it’s on through the Coconut Telegraph.”

  “Ride the unicorn?” I said, questioning whether I’d heard my conch friend correctly.

  “Yeah. It’s time for you two to experience something most people never get to in the Keys.”

  Ange and I both looked at him blankly.

  “When was the last time either of you went surfing?” he added after savoring our expressions for a few seconds.

  “Nobody surfs in the Keys,” Ange said. “The reefs break the waves before they make it to the beach.”

  “Usually, yes. But sometimes Neptune abides. That’s why it’s called the unicorn.”

  I sat at the foot of the bed, and Ange wrapped her arms around me.

  “Sounds fun, Jack,” she said. “But we should let the birthday boy decide.”

  Jack laughed. “Ah, shoot, I forgot, man,” he said. “Happy birthday, bro. You forty yet?”

  Ange and I both chuckled at that one.

  “Not quite,” I said. “And I’m up for some surfing. You’ve officially sparked my curiosity, Jack.”

  “Unicorn,” he said enthusiastically, shaking a hang loose sign. “We gotta motor out there before it gets spooked. I got the boards loaded into my Jeep. We should take the Robalo. We’ll be flirting with the reef, so the shallower the draft, the better.”

  He stepped out of view along the porch.

  “He’s going all the way with that unicorn analogy, isn’t he?” Ange said.

  I grinned. Turning around, I parted a few strands of hair from her face and kissed my way from her forehead down to her lips.

  Atticus, who’d been sniffing around the yard, ran up and into the bedroom. He joined in on the smooching before I wrestled him onto his back. Ange climbed out of bed, wearing one of my T-shirts, and I admired her for a few seconds. She was five-ten, with a lean athletic build that looked great even in the loose-fitting torn-up shirt.

  “I’m curious to see what’s got him so excited,” I said. “It must be nothing short of a miracle if it got him out of bed this early.”

  THREE

  We whipped up a quick breakfast. Our usual mango, pineapple, banana smoothies, along with a few leftover poppy seed muffins from Keys Knees Bakery. After eating, we changed and helped Jack load and strap two surfboards into our 22 Robalo center-console that we kept stored in a small boathouse along the channel.

  The wind was even stronger down by the water. The weather app on my phone indicated twenty miles per hour sustained. It caused whitecaps to form even in the narrow stretch of tamed ocean. It would be much choppier out on the open water, and Jack was counting on it.

  I started up the 200-hp engine, and we bounced east into Cow Key Channel. Cutting south, we motored into the Florida Straits and skirted northeast along the Lower Keys. I kept us at a cruising speed of thirty knots. With the wind and waves, water sprayed up over the bow as we crested rollers and splashed back down.

  Given the weather, boat traffic was minimal. In fact, we had the stretch of ocean nearly to ourselves as we made the trip to our destination off the coast of Marathon.

  Just under an hour and a half later, we approached Sombrero Key. It was high tide, so the reef was completely submerged. Massive waves rolled and crashed. The lighthouse, which had been in service since the mid-1800s, rose 140 feet out of the water. Its red color and octagonal pyramid shape made it unmistakable even from miles away.

  “Hell yeah,” Jack said. He’d climbed up onto the bow and maintained his balance with every rise and fall. “Look at those breakers? Not bad for the Keys, huh?”

  I had to hand it to my old friend—the waves weren’t bad. The wind, currents, and shifting tides made them chaotic but still rideable. It wasn’t the North Shore of Oahu by any means, but it would be enough to get a taste of the rush.

  “Just gotta keep an eye out for portions of jutting coral,” Jack said as he unlashed the surfboards. “Most spots are at least five feet deep, but we’ll stick to the grooves on the southern part of the reef.”

  The wind was howling in from the north, a cold front from a faraway place where
white Christmas meant snow instead of sand. By the time the wind traveled to southern Florida, it warmed significantly, but it was still chilly by many of the locals’ standards.

  Jack grabbed a chunk of wax from his backpack and rubbed it along the top of each of the boards.

  “Wax on, wax off,” he said with a big smile. Once ready, he strapped the leash to his left ankle and pointed at a pack of swells thirty yards off the starboard bow. “Looks like the money spot,” he said enthusiastically.

  I motored him over, then gave him a nod.

  “Show us how it’s done, Johnny Utah,” I said, referencing one of our favorite movies.

  “No way, bro,” he said. “With my hair? I’m Bodhi, for sure. Just, you know, without all the bank-robbing stuff.”

  I laughed.

  “Just don’t get yourself killed,” Ange said.

  He smiled, then turned around and timed the crest of a wave as he splashed into the water. Lying flat on the board, he paddled into the thick of it. Once in position, he sat up, putting his back to the incoming waves and waiting for his moment. It didn’t take long. A large wave quickly rose high above the rest. Jack sprawled out again and paddled with it. As the wave lifted him from the sea, he sprang to his feet and cut perpendicular into it.

  He rode the wave with ease, sliding smoothly along the wall of water. Ange and I watched, cheering him on as he put on an impressive show. The wave soon broke apart, and Jack cut into the rolling crest before spinning back around to face us. The water barreled over and crashed, covering Jack’s body and board in a frothy white haze. A moment later, he surfaced triumphantly. A fist bump. A cheer. And an enthusiastic round of applause from Ange and me.

  “Just when I thought I’d seen everything in the Keys,” Ange said, shaking her head.

  I was just as surprised as her. I’d never heard of anyone surfing the Keys before.

  “The islands are full of surprises.”

  Ange grabbed the other board and joined in. After fifteen minutes, Jack paddled over and traded places with me. We weren’t as good as Jack, but we were both able to stay up long enough to enjoy the thrill.

  I quickly understood why Jack had been so excited earlier that morning. Surfing in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by breaking waves and reefs in all directions, was a unique and electrifying experience.

  A few times I nearly cut myself on a protruding portion of coral. It wouldn’t have been the first time. My body’s covered in scars and scrapes accumulated during my various escapades over the years.

  We spent two hours out on the water. Riding waves, swimming back, waiting for the next one. Watching each other glide across the water and crash into the torrent. Fresh sea air, good company, and an adrenaline rush. Not a bad way to spend a morning. I’d lived in many places and traveled to much of the world, and I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather live.

  Nearly three years. That was how long I’d been back in the Keys. It felt like a blink and an eternity all at the same time.

  Taking a break, Ange opened the cooler, and we chowed down on a few snacks she’d brought. Cheez-Its, granola bars, coconut waters—just enough to keep our energy up for another go in the water.

  While eating, Jack said, “Sorry again about this morning.” After we waved him off, he added, “I didn’t know you guys were still strung about what happened in Cuba. You think someone might be after you?”

  “Hopefully, we can go after them instead,” I said. “Dante Salazar was just the tip of the spear.”

  The former Cuban gangster had been the leader of a sex-trafficking operation before we’d sent him to a fiery grave. But Dante had been only a pawn in a large network of global corruption. A massive illegal operation controlled by a man named Richard Wake, a billionaire businessman who owned one of the largest marine shipping companies in the world, aptly named the Wake Corporation. He was a murderer, and the mastermind behind an evil empire that cared little for anything except his own personal gain.

  After we’d taken down Salazar in Cuba, Wake had disappeared. His location hadn’t been confirmed in months, even though the CIA, along with other organizations, was hard at work looking for him.

  “Scott working on it?”

  I nodded. “Along with others. But money can do a lot for you in this world, and Wake has a whole lot of it.”

  Regardless of Wake’s power, I was confident that my old Navy buddy, Scott Cooper, could track him down. Scott had been my division officer in the SEALs for a time. He’s also one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met and is currently serving as a senator representing the state of Florida. If anyone had the resources and motivation to find Wake, it was him.

  We spent another hour on the water before deciding to call it quits at 1100. Exhausted, hungry, and getting cold, we loaded up the boards and headed north to Marathon.

  Jack took over the controls, and Ange and I sat beside each other in the bow. Just a few minutes after leaving Sombrero, it started to rain. Within seconds, the occasional drop gave way to thick sheets, and we took cover behind the small windscreen. It didn’t last long. Just a few minutes, then the clouds moved on.

  I rose to my feet and held on to the cockpit beside Jack. Looking out over the water, I watched as Boot Key grew larger ahead of us. Off to the right, I spotted unusual movement on the surface of the water that immediately caught my attention. It was far off. Probably a quarter of a mile.

  Probably just driftwood. Or garbage.

  Reaching for my binoculars in the locker to the left of the helm, I held them up to my eyes and focused.

  “What is it, bro?” Jack said.

  “Not sure.”

  It was hard to keep steady with the relentless rising and splashing of the hull over the choppy water. But after a few seconds, I was sure. The strange objects came into chaotic focus, and I realized that they weren’t objects at all. They were people. Two of them, and they were struggling for dear life in the rough seas.

  FOUR

  “Time to change course, Jack!” I shouted. “There are two people over there that need help.”

  Jack didn’t hesitate. Didn’t wait for further explanation.

  He turned the wheel, putting the two distant victims right on top of the bow, and shoved the throttles all the way forward.

  Ange sprang up behind me. She snatched the binos and took a look while holding on tight.

  “They’ve got to be over a mile from shore,” she said.

  There was no way of knowing how long they’d been struggling. When faced with strong currents and bad conditions, even an experienced swimmer can drown after succumbing to a barrage of relentless waves crashing down on you, seemingly from all directions. In that situation, exhaustion quickly sets in.

  We needed to get to them, and fast.

  Jack piloted the Robalo expertly, and we held on as we bounced violently up and down. Wind howled past us. Waves splattered over the sides, against the windscreen, and all over the deck.

  We kept our gazes glued to the two people as they struggled to stay afloat. The current was carrying them northeast, toward a cluster of whitecaps.

  “Water’s too shallow, and those waves are too big,” Jack said after bringing us within a hundred yards of the struggling people. “I’ll bring you around to the west. We’re gonna have to swim for them.”

  Jack was right. The current was carrying them closer and closer to the shallows. It would be a painful and potentially deadly encounter if they were tossed onto the jagged coral and limestone.

  Jack brought us as close as he could to the shallow water, then turned to point the bow into the wind. Needing to make a quick decision, I unlashed the surfboards and strapped the bigger one’s lanyard to my right ankle. Jack grabbed the other one, and Ange took over at the helm. Though Ange was a great swimmer, Jack was bigger and therefore more able to haul a helpless person from the water.

  We jumped into the wild tempest. Sprawling out on the boards, we paddled with everything we had, racing toward the
victims. Seawater sloshed and sprayed into our faces. I had to constantly wipe the water from my eyes to see where I was going.

  “Help!” one of the people shouted.

  It was a girl’s voice—a frantic cry, filled with the real and raw terror of someone who could feel death closing in.

  “We’re coming!” Jack shouted back over a gust of wind.

  We slowed as we closed in. The waves crashed around us, and each time one receded, we could see the seafloor less than five feet through the white haze.

  Keeping my eyes forward, I rose onto my knees and watched as the girl who’d screamed came into view. Her forehead was bleeding, and she was scared beyond belief and gasping frantically. But she was alive.

  About ten yards beyond her, I caught my first glimpse of the second person. It looked like a guy. Broader shoulders, short black hair. He wasn’t moving. He was wearing a bright orange lifejacket and floated lifelessly on his back.

  “You get her to safety,” I shouted to Jack. “I’ll get the other one.”

  I didn’t give him time to answer. The moment the words left my lips, I dropped back down onto the surfboard and paddled as hard as I could. Stroke after inexorable stroke, I tore across the water, and soon reached the guy.

  He was big. Probably two hundred and fifty pounds. His mouth was open, and his eyes were closed. His pale sunburned skin led me to assume that he was a tourist down from the north, hoping to soak up the sun for a few days. A relaxing getaway in paradise. But Mother Nature had other ideas.

  After timing a wave, I rose up onto my knees, wrapped an arm under his shoulders, and tried to pull him up onto the board. But he didn’t move. I tried again, even harder. Nothing. He was big but not too big for me to handle.

  A large wave pummeled into us, tossing me sideways and nearly knocking me into the shallow water. I could see the bottom, dark shapes of coral and rock just a few feet below the turbulent surface.

  I searched his body and realized that the strap of his lifejacket was caught on something. I tried to rip the flotation device off him, but the straps were tied down with double knots.