by Matthew Rief
The guy smiled. He stepped a black boot up onto the bow of their boat, then grabbed his sunglasses and lowered them. He looked Ange up and down with lust-filled eyes. Right then, I realized who it was. I blinked a few times to make sure that the sun wasn’t playing tricks on me, but it wasn’t.
It was him. A man I’d served with in the Navy years before. A man who’d chosen to go down a very different path.
Holy crap.
“That’s a good girl,” he said.
He shot a few more glances at Ange, enjoying the view of her in her bikini. It took every ounce of self-control for me not to rise up and throw my dive knife into his chest. But if I did, Wake would be alerted to our presence. The rest of his guards would know that something was up, and they’d have him whisked away from the compound before we could reach their dock.
I kept calm. On the outside, I was a stone. Inside, my blood was boiling like a geyser moments before eruption.
Finally, he stepped back down and said something to his companion, and the boat motored off. It accelerated quickly, heading back toward the dock.
When it was nearly to the dock, I pulled myself up out of the water and sat on the gunwale.
“Good job, Ange,” I said.
I removed my mask and fins, then stared out over the water toward the compound.
“The acting was easy,” she said. “Not knocking that guy on his butt was the hard part.”
Jack leaned over the transom. Peering out toward Scott’s surfacing bubbles, he grabbed his mask, then splashed in and gave Scott the all clear. He surfaced with my BCD in his hands a few minutes later.
“What happened?” Scott said, sliding his mask down to hang around his neck.
“They told us to leave, man,” Jack said. “Threatened to shoot us if we don’t.”
Scott kicked over to the swim step, unstrapped his gear, and Jack helped him load it onto the deck.
“Thanks for the help, Logan,” Scott said.
I was still sitting on the gunwale, still staring out over the water.
Ange stepped over and placed her hands on my thighs. “Hey, you alright?”
I snapped out of it. I had no doubt that my face still displayed the shock I’d felt upon recognizing my old comrade.
“That was a close call,” I said.
Ange shrugged. “He sounded convinced that we were harmless,” she said. “I doubt he suspects anything.”
“No, I mean, we almost surfaced and blew this whole thing,” I said.
The three of them looked at me, confused.
“That guy on the boat that they were talking to,” I explained, looking at Scott. “It was Nathan Brier.”
He narrowed his gaze. “What?” he said, shaking his head. “Are you serious?”
I nodded.
“You’re sure it was him?”
“I’m certain of it.”
Scott let out a breath and looked out over the water. He couldn’t believe it. Neither could I.
“Hey, one of you wanna pull us into the loop here?” Jack said.
I looked at Ange and Jack, who were both waiting impatiently for us to fill them in.
“We served with Brier in the Navy,” I said. “Well, I did. He replaced Scott as our command controller. After the incident in Venezuela, where he tried to lead our entire platoon into a trap for corrupt financial gain, he’d been court-martialed and given a dishonorable boot by Uncle Sam. That was over ten years ago. I haven’t seen him, or even heard anything about him, since.”
“Me neither,” Scott said. “He jumped off the grid and never inched back toward it.” He looked off toward the dock and the compound beyond it. “Makes sense now. He’s had Wake to help keep him in the dark.”
The deck fell silent for a moment. Scott and I both put on hats and sunglasses, just in case anyone near the compound had high powered scopes.
“So, you’re telling me that a former SEAL is heading Wake’s bodyguard detail?” Jack said. He shook his head. “This is just getting better and better.”
ELEVEN
Richard Wake stood at the edge of the veranda up on the third story of the mansion. He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun as he peered out over the water.
Wake was in his sixties but looked much younger. Tall and imposing, he was clean-shaven and had short dark hair. He wore a crisp white robe and gold-rimmed sunglasses. In his right hand, he held a half-burned cigar. In his left, a glass with ice.
He turned as the boat he’d been watching reached the end of his dock. Striding past two women lounging by the pool in bikinis, he set his drink and cigar on a table, entered through a large sliding glass door, and headed down a flight of marble stairs. He met with the two guys from the boat down in the courtyard.
“What’s going on, Brier?” Wake asked. His voice was authoritative and articulate, the unique blend that forms after years of being in control.
“Nothing,” Brier replied. “Just a dive charter. I told them to get a move on.”
Wake looked out over the water. Far in the distance, he could see the boat motoring west, heading away from them.
“Good,” Wake replied. He paused a moment. He furrowed his brow and stared sternly into Brier’s eyes. “Make sure no other boats enter the bay. My associates will be arriving late tonight. Have the computers and intel ready in the secure room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wake eyed his head of security with a scrutinized gaze. “And make sure the men are alert,” he added in a hard tone. “We leave for Miami tomorrow. I don’t want any problems until then.”
“The property’s secure,” Brier said. “I can assure you of that.”
Wake dismissed him, then strode back upstairs to the veranda. Pouring himself a refill of whiskey, he took a few sips, then picked up his cigar. He stepped to the railing and looked out over the water. The boat in question continued to motor west and soon disappeared around the rocky point.
He puffed his cigar and strode over to the pool. He sat on a cushioned lounge chair beside the two girls in bikinis. One of them, a voluptuous brunette, slid over and started massaging his shoulders. He closed his eyes and gave a satisfied sigh.
His muscles were tense. The past few months had been even more stressful than usual for him. Cleaning up the mess after part of his global sex-trafficking operation was rousted in Cuba.
He shook his head, then took a deep puff of his cigar.
“¿Por qué llevas ropa?” the woman said seductively.
She slid off the top of Wake’s robe, revealing his tanned, dark-haired chest.
Wake was too lost in his thoughts to give a reply.
Part of his operation had been through the wringer, but he had a new plan in the works, one that would make it all worthwhile. After the meeting he had scheduled that evening, he’d be just one step away from making his next scheme a reality.
He leaned back as the other woman, a tanned redhead, kissed his chest. He clenched his jaw, then smiled.
He’d been lying dormant long enough and was ready to make his next move. It was bold and would come at the expense of innocent life. But such frivolities had never swayed his plans before.
When my vision comes to fruition, he thought, I will secure more power than ever before.
TWELVE
We stowed our gear, brought up the anchor with the windlass, and started up the two outboards. Jack accelerated us east and out of the bay. Within a few minutes, Wake’s compound disappeared beyond a jutting point. Five minutes later, we made it back to Pineapple Creek Lodge.
“We’re gonna unload our stuff and grab a shower,” Scott said.
They dropped us off at our green bungalow, then motored over to the nearby blue one. An hour later, we all met up back at our place. We were all refreshed, changed, and ready to plan our assault.
We quickly went over everything we had. Ange had gotten a lot of good footage and pictures while Scott and I had been underwater. She counted five guys in all at the compound, including
Brier and his buddy. She’d also spotted two girls in bikinis up by the pool.
“We’ll plan on there being at least five more,” Scott said. “But that’s nothing we can’t handle with the element of surprise.” He turned to look at me. “You still thinking a beach approach?”
I nodded.
“We could sneak up to the dock, take out the guard, then kill the power in the generator room before closing in on Wake.”
He pointed at the blueprints Murph had managed to find. The generator room was just up the stairs from the beach, so if we could reach it without being detected by the cameras or motion sensors, we’d be off to a strong start.
“What about the guards up in the compound?” Ange said. “A few of them patrol and look out over the dock and beachfront. I think they’ll notice their missing buddy.”
We fell silent for a moment.
“It would be a whole lot easier if we had some kind of diversion,” Jack said. “Something to draw these guys away, maybe over to the front of the house.”
“Jack’s right,” Ange said. “But what?”
We thought for a moment; then Jack chimed in again.
“Once inside, you’re not exactly home free,” he said. “What about this former Navy buddy of yours? I mean, you three have fought some hard guys, but he was one of you. And if he’s head of Wake’s security, I’m guessing he’ll be glued to the guy’s side.”
Brier was a problem. Scott and I were the first to admit it. His presence was an unfortunate surprise, but one that we were confident we could handle.
We spent hours going over the plans and ironing out all of the details. I thought about the previous day in Marathon, when Ange had told me that I looked like I missed the action. She was right, of course. She almost always was. There’s something about planning out an assault to infiltrate and take out a murderer that really lights me up.
When the sun began to tickle the horizon, we called the pizza place Maisy had mentioned and ordered two large pies. Half an hour later, the distant sound of music overtook the still evening air. It grew louder and louder, then stopped as a vehicle pulled into the driveway beside the main lodge.
Ange and I stepped out the front door and watched as a lanky kid strode over to us, carrying two pizza boxes.
“Who’s hungry?” he called out when he saw us.
His blue Island Time Pizza T-shirt was dusted in white flour. He wore big sunglasses. And he had an even bigger smile on his face.
He handed me the pizzas and we paid him. He also handed us a rolled-up T-shirt.
“It’s the same one I’m wearing,” he exclaimed proudly.
Ange grabbed the shirt and unrolled it. She was disappointed that it was too big for her, but the kid said it was the only size they had.
“Enjoy!” he exclaimed before turning on his heels and bouncing back to his car.
Maisy scolded him as he climbed in. She told him that if he didn’t turn his blasted music down, she’d knock him over the head with her broom. Needless to say, we didn’t hear the music when the kid drove away. If he was smart, he’d have turned it off just to play it safe.
I stood frozen for a few seconds, just staring off toward the car’s fading cloud of dust.
“Hey, you alright?” Ange said.
Jack sprang out and stopped in front of me.
“Bro, you’re letting the pizza get cold,” he said.
I smiled, then looked at the two of them. The overly excited kid with the loud musical tastes had given me an idea.
“Jack, you used to deliver pizzas, right?” I said.
He looked at me, confused. “Random, man,” he said. “But back in high school, yeah.”
He tried to snatch the boxes from my hand, but I gripped them tighter.
He motioned toward the living room and added, “Come on, bro, I’m starving.”
I smiled at Ange, who was still holding the Island Time Pizza T-shirt.
“I think we just found our distraction,” I said.
THIRTEEN
We ate on the porch while watching the end of the sunset. After finishing up, we prepped all of our gear, then slept for a few hours before reconvening just after midnight. We brewed a big pot of coffee and each downed a mug to wake up.
Using my sat phone, Scott contacted Wilson, who gave us a live update on the satellite imagery of the compound. There’d been no boat or auto activity near the property since we’d left the dive site. And Wake’s jet was still on the tarmac in Coxen Hole. The mission was a go.
At midnight thirty, Jack stepped out from the bathroom wearing the Island Time Pizza T-shirt. Once the others agreed that my idea could work, we ordered two more pizzas for Jack to deliver that evening. The same guy dropped them off and was amazed that we needed so much.
Grabbing the two boxes, Jack closed his eyes and bobbed his head.
“What the heck are you doing?” Ange asked, though we were all thinking it.
“Just trying to get back into the old high school delivery boy Jack mindset,” he said.
I smiled and handed him the keys to Maisy’s Volkswagen. We’d taken her up on her offer, asking if we could borrow it to drive up to the top of nearby Diamond Hill and look at the stars that night. She’d agreed, which meant Jack was ready to make his distracting delivery.
“Remember,” I said, “the louder your music, the better.”
He grinned.
“I’m gonna have that bug shaking,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for your signal with my radio. You guys have fun storming the castle now. And be careful.”
Scott, Ange, and I boarded Exotic Pearl. Jack untied the lines and waved as we motored south. Roughly a mile from shore, Scott shifted our course east back toward the direction of the compound. Once beyond Wake’s property, he piloted us north into Old Port Royal, then killed the engines along the western point.
We were well out of the line of sight of anyone in the compound, and we’d shut off all the onboard lights. The nearly full moon reflected off the water and made the land and surrounding islands silhouettes. The wind had picked up a little and was blowing in from the north at fifteen knots.
Once in position, I donned my drysuit, pulling it over my black tactical pants and matching long-sleeved shirt. Scott grabbed the other one and did the same. As much as Ange wanted to be by my side, she was hands down the best sniper of the group. Once we were ashore, she’d slowly motor around the point and provide cover.
I grabbed the two rebreathers and we powered them on. Rebreathers were our bread and butter. Closed-loop breathing systems meant no bubbles giving away our position and no having to deal with buoyancy changes with every breath cycle. The downside is they’re expensive and highly technical, taking hundreds of hours to get proficient.
Once powered on, we strapped them onto our backs. I’d already performed full checks of both the previous day. They were fully operational and ready to go.
We both donned full face masks so we could communicate with each other, as well as Ange and Jack, while underwater. Once we were on the edge and ready to go, Ange handed me my dry bag and a sea scooter for each of us.
“Alright, Jack,” I said. “We’re dropping down.”
“Roger that,” he replied a moment later. “Leaving the bungalow now. I’ll be standing by near the compound.”
Ange told us both to be careful. We gave each other a nod, then dropped into the dark tropical water. Entering negatively buoyant, we sank ten feet and leveled off just above the seabed. The current was a little stronger, and it was pulling us away from where we needed to go. Thankfully, the sea scooters could drag us through the water at up to seven knots, powerful enough to combat even the fastest rivers.
We clicked on our dive flashlights and shined them forward. Orienting ourselves using our wrist compasses, we powered up the scooters and held on tight. The bottom flew past us as we shot through the water, navigating over and under coral patches and keeping a good distance from the rocky shoreline as we came around th
e point.
We traversed nearly a mile underwater before reaching the end of the dock. We slowed as we approached the two closest support pilings. Entering the darker waters under the shade of the dock, we powered off the scooters.
We finned closer to shore until we were in about five feet of water, then removed and powered off our rebreathers. We slid off our fins and facemasks as well. Slowly and quietly, we rose side by side out of the water. We stood still for a moment, listening. There were no sounds aside from the wind softly rustling palm fronds and the waves gently lapping against the rocky shore.
Grabbing our rebreathers, scooters, and the rest of our dive gear, we strapped it all down to one of the barnacle-covered pilings, then waded toward the shore. We moved slowly, keeping the sloshing to a minimum.
Once we were under the boathouse, I peeked around the edge of the dock and spotted the sentry. He was leaning against the railing. A big, tough-looking guy—he was dressed in black pants and a skintight shirt, and he had a submachine gun resting across his chest. He wore an earpiece and scanned back and forth over the water while slapping away the occasional mosquito.
I moved back under the dock and used hand signals to relay to Scott the guy’s position. Scott nodded. Not wanting to alert the guy to our presence by using our radio, Scott sent Jack a message using the sat phone in my waterproof backpack.
You’re up, Jack, the message said.
Roger that, he replied.
We waited and listened. It didn’t take long.
It was faint at first, muffled by the hills, trees, and distance. Soon the music got louder, and I recognized it.
“Leave it to Jack to find a Buffett song,” Scott whispered as “Fins” rocked the calm evening air.
The dock creaked as the guard above us stirred. He spoke into his radio, asking what was going on.
The music got louder and louder. I was impressed by Maisy’s old Volkswagen’s speakers and wondered if my conch friend would be deaf the next time I saw him.