by Matthew Rief
We gathered the bodies, then loaded and transported them one at a time onto the kayak and over to the Baia. It wasn’t easy. It took us the better part of two hours to get them all aboard, including Salazar.
We motored the Baia west into deeper water to dispose of them. Using a thirty-foot section of extra anchor rode, we wrapped the four of them up then rolled them over the side. They splashed and vanished into the dark, three hundred feet deep water. The irony was that we were in nearly the exact same spot where Scott and I had sent Dante’s uncle Benito to a watery grave.
“If this guy comes back from that,” Ange said, “I think it’ll be time to call the Ghostbusters.”
We motored back to the island and finally got some sleep in the tent at just after 0300. It had been an unusual couple of days. We’d had to catch z’s whenever we could, reminding me of my time in the Navy.
We woke a few hours after sunrise. We ate some breakfast while watching the magnificent show from up on the rocks, then packed up camp. After two trips back and forth on the kayak, we lashed it in place, then raised the Baia’s anchor. Ange climbed up onto the bow and took a look around with the binos.
“All clear,” she said.
We were confident that we’d dealt with all of our stalkers. But neither of us were about to underestimate Wake, or his ability to send wave two.
I started the engines and slowly accelerated us around the shallows surrounding Monte Cristo, heading east. Once in deeper water, I gunned the throttles. Ange held on as the bow rose, then splashed back down as I brought us up on plane.
It was another beautiful day. Mostly clear skies, minimal wind, and the mercury was already indicating seventy degrees. My mind played over the previous evening’s activities while I breathed in the fresh sea air.
When we passed Loggerhead Key in Tortugas, I grabbed my sat phone and called Scott to fill him in on what had happened.
“Good to hear your voice, Logan,” he said. “You guys doing alright sitting tight?”
“There hasn’t been any sitting tight, Scott. We were attacked last night by Dante Salazar and a few of his remaining thugs.”
Scott paused a moment. He was probably wondering if he’d heard me correctly.
“Wait… what?” he gasped. “I thought he was dead.”
“I did too. But apparently he managed to survive. At least until last night.”
There was a short silence.
“You sure he’s dead this time?”
“He’s having a reunion with his uncle at the bottom of the ocean as we speak.”
“He followed you two to Cristo?”
“Yes.”
“Wake will send others when he finds out that Salazar failed. You both gonna stay put longer?”
“No. We’re on our way back home now. Any word from Murph?”
“Apparently the USB’s about as secure as they come. But he says he’ll get into it. Just needs time.”
I thought for a moment, then said, “You think you could get ahold of the building info for the Wake Corporation Tower in Miami?”
“Don’t see why not. Why do you need it?”
“Dante mentioned that’s where Wake was hiding out before he tumbled off a cliff.”
Scott sighed.
“I’ll see what I can do. But only if you promise not to make a move until we hear from Murph. He was probably lying—you know that, right? Guy like that lied for a living. There’s no reason I can think of as to why he’d tell the truth.”
He was right. There was no logic to it. But it was a possibility I wanted to be prepared for. I agreed not to make any moves, and he agreed to scrounge up whatever plans he could. Then we hung up.
“Still on defense?” Ange said.
She’d migrated back onto the main deck and was sprawled out on the half-moon cushioned seat around the outdoor dinette beside me. Strands of her blond hair danced as we flew across the water at forty knots.
“For now,” I replied.
I thought about Wake. I wished that I could see his face when he found out what had happened to Dante. And I wondered who he’d send next. If we didn’t figure out where he was soon and engage him, things could get really ugly in our island paradise.
TWENTY-TWO
Miami, Florida
Later That Afternoon
Richard Wake sat in a high-back leather chair in his fiftieth-floor office. He wore his best gray suit, the jacket hanging on a rack beside the door. A massive custom-made ebony executive desk with a smooth polished finish rested in front of him. At his back, a floor-to-ceiling window displayed a 180-degree view of the Miami skyline and oceanfront.
Sitting across from him, a Japanese businessman in his late forties finished going over last-minute details of their plan.
“I assure you, Mr. Wake,” he said, “everything will go according to plan. Come Friday morning, your stock will surge, and the Wake Corporation will have complete control of maritime shipping.”
The man had a strong Japanese accent, though his English was good. He had silver-tinted slicked-back hair and a clean-shaven face.
Wake steepled his fingers.
The highly secretive plan had been orchestrated over months. He’d gone over every detail again and again. The stage was set. The dominoes were in place and ready to be tipped into motion. His associate was simply asking for the green light.
Wake cracked a sly smile. “Good. Mistakes, no matter how small, won’t be tolerated.” He nodded, then rose to his feet. “Do it, Hiroto.”
The Japanese businessman gave a slight bow, then stood as well. He shook Wake’s hand, then stepped around the edge of the desk toward the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked out over the Miami skyline and the waterfront just a few blocks away. Beyond the ocean’s edge were the strand of barrier islands and the big blue Atlantic.
“The ship will pull in just there,” the man said. “It will tie off near cruise terminal J.”
He motioned down toward the over-two-mile-long island that made up the Port of Miami. On the north side was the largest passenger port in the world. On the south side, one of the largest cargo ports in the States.
“It will be a nice view from here, Mr. Wake,” the man added. “An impressive spectacle.”
He motioned to a clean-cut, well-dressed assistant who was standing by the door. The much younger Asian guy strode over and handed Wake a fancy rectangular box.
“It’s Dom Perignon Vintage 1959 Rosé,” Hiroto said. “This bottle, along with its entire production, was purchased by the shah of Iran to commemorate the twenty-five-hundredth anniversary of the founding of the Persian empire by Cyrus the Great. I thought it appropriate for the occasion, as we too are on the brink of founding an empire that will rule long after we are gone.”
Wake thanked him for the champagne. Hiroto bowed again, then turned and headed for the door, his assistant right on his heels. The door shut behind them. Wake set the box on his desk. He stepped over to his red leather sofa, and just as he plopped down for what he hoped would be a quick nap, his office door opened.
“Not now, Natasha,” he said, closing his eyes and waving his right hand.
His private secretary was the only one who ever entered his office unannounced, and even she didn’t do it often.
“It’s me,” Brier said as he strode across the office.
Wake’s eyes shot open. “Brier?” He leaned back into the cushion, closed his eyes again, and massaged the bridge of his nose. “You better have good news for me.”
Brier stopped in front of his boss and crossed his arms. “Dante’s dead,” he said, getting straight to the point. “Along with his men. Logan and his wife killed them.”
Wake took in a deep breath of air and let it out. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. Even though he didn’t give a damn about Dante, he had at least hoped that the deadly Cuban gang leader would be able to off a guy. Even if it was Logan Dodge.
Wake snarled. He was getting sick and tired of dealing with the nobo
dy from Key West.
“Let me go get him,” Brier said. “I fought with the guy. Hell, I led the guy. I have the same training as him. I know the way he thinks. I can kill him, Richard. I will kill him.”
Wake still had his eyes closed. He was tired, and the news was giving him a headache. He wanted nothing more than to put Logan Dodge dead and out of his mind. But then he thought of a better idea. A way to take down Dodge while giving the nosy vigilante a taste of his own medicine.
“No,” Wake said. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Brier. “Death would be letting him off easy. We’re going to bring him here and make him watch as our plans unfold. Then I’m going to make him wish he was dead. And then, after all that, you can kill him.”
“Killing him would be easier than capturing him,” Brier said. “Best to not let your emotions get involved in this.”
Wake eyed the tall ex-Special Forces sailor. “You forget your place, Brier,” he snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You forget that when your own government turned against you, I was the only one to lend a hand.” He reached for a nearby cigar from a small wooden case as Brier stared him down. “And if you do as I say, we won’t have to capture him. He’ll turn himself over to us.”
TWENTY-THREE
At 1000, we motored into Conch Harbor and tied off to slip twenty-four. I unlashed the kayak and carted it toward the office. Atticus sprinted down the planks to greet me. I petted him as he licked my face. His fur was dripping with seawater.
“Just got done trying to wear him out with the tennis ball,” Gus said, sauntering toward me with the bright yellow orb in his right hand. He smiled at my energetic Lab and added, “Better luck next time, I guess.”
Atticus was a great swimmer. Whenever we brought him along on our boat trips throughout the Keys, I made time to toss his ball out over the water at least a few times a day. It was a good way to calm him down and get him to take a nap. Otherwise, he’d be bouncing around restless all day.
“Thanks, Gus. I appreciate you watching him for us.”
Gus waved me off. “It’s no problem, man.” He stopped in front of me, then inspected my face through a pair of big-rimmed sunglasses. “Seems like every time I see you, you’ve got a new bruise or cut lately.”
I suspected that he was referring particularly to the wound from Dante’s elbow striking my left temple.
“Had to deal with a few vermin who’d infested our island paradise,” I said.
“Uh-huh. Well, I hope they’re all cleared out now.” He looked south toward Mallory Square. “Hey, you guys coming to the costume party tonight on the waterfront? There’s gonna be music and even more performers than usual. And the mayor’s even stopping by to say a few words and judge a Key lime pie-eating contest.”
“You entered in that?” I asked.
“Of course. Free pie, so everybody wins in my book.”
Ange whistled from over on the Baia. Atticus’s head snapped up to look toward the sound, then he took off toward her. He nearly tripped in his excitement as he sprang from the dock onto the Baia’s sunbed and into Ange’s arms.
“Thanks for the invite, Gus,” I said. “Any other night, we would, but Ange and I have personal matters to attend to. Have fun and don’t eat too much, alright?”
He laughed and rubbed his belly. “No promises.”
He grabbed the kayak, offering to wheel it the rest of the way to his shed. I thanked him again, then met Ange over at the boat. We loaded up the rest of our stuff, then locked up and carted it all to the truck still parked in the first row of the lot.
We kept a sharp eye out for anything suspicious as we drove home. We didn’t know how or when Wake would retaliate with another force, but assumed that it wouldn’t be long. After all, Dante had followed us out of the harbor less than twelve hours after our infiltration of Wake’s Roatán compound.
I pulled us slowly into the driveway. We scanned the property, looking for any signs that someone had been there. We idled for about a minute before shutting off the engine and stepping out. The security system hadn’t given us any warning messages since we’d left the previous morning, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Ange and I shared a shower, then changed and had a quick bite to eat before heading outside to play with Atticus. With nothing to do but sit and wait for potential trouble to come knocking on our door, I decided that it was a good time to clean my guns. I brought them all down to the backyard and rested them in a row on our wicker outdoor dining table.
I’d accumulated a decent-sized arsenal over the years. My two Sig Sauer P226 pistols, an MP5N submachine gun, and an M4 carbine assault rifle. Ange had her Glock 17 holstered as she lay in the hammock beside me, but her extra Glock and Lapua sniper rifle were also on the table.
Needless to say, we’d be ready if more of Wake’s hired help decided to pay us a visit. With my motion sensors and cameras all online, if anyone came near our house, we could be fully armed and ready to engage at the drop of a hat.
I went to work, beginning with my Sigs and working my way up in caliber. I took each weapon fully apart and cleaned, oiled, inspected, and replaced components as necessary. In the SEALs, we were always taking apart, inspecting, and cleaning our weapons. It was a vital part of every mission. You could be the best marksman in the world, but it wouldn’t matter if your gun jammed.
Cleaning firearms had also always been a good way for me to clear my head and get a firm grasp on the big picture of a particular situation. For me, it’s kind of like a way of meditating.
I looked over at Ange. She was wearing denim shorts and a white tank top. Her long, tanned legs glistened under the afternoon sun. She had her head back and her eyes closed behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. Atticus lay on the grass in the shade beneath her.
Despite the danger we were in, and despite what we’d been through the past few days, Ange looked as calm as if she were spending a day at the spa. She was far from being new to this kind of thing. I didn’t know a lot about her early years in Sweden, but I knew that after her parents had died, she’d dedicated her life to fighting. Her vetted mercenary jobs had taken her all over the world. It was a dangerous life, and even the first time we met, we’d been in the heat of an operation gone sour.
I could never get over how amazing and beautiful she was. Why she’d ever decided to settle for me was a mystery stranger than fiction.
As I finished cleaning and oiling my M4, my phone buzzed on the table beside me. Ange lowered her sunglasses and looked over. We were both expecting a security notification, but only my phone had gone off. Hers was silent.
“False alarm, Ange,” I said, glancing at the screen. “It’s just Scottie.”
He was just letting me know that he’d emailed us everything he could scrounge up on the Wake Corporation Tower in Miami. And he reminded me of the promise I’d made not to make a move until we heard from Murph.
I grabbed the laptop from inside, and we sat at the dining table under the shade of an umbrella. We went over pictures and virtual 3-D images of the exterior and interior. It was a nice, sleek black building. At seventy floors and nearly eight hundred feet high, it was the second-tallest building in Miami, after the Panorama Tower. It was located right on First Street. It had three restaurants, forty elevators, and a grand hundred-foot-tall foyer with a big waterfall right at the entrance.
I also checked the tower’s website and tourist pictures on Google. The place looked heavily protected. Guards and metal detectors at the main entrance. Restricted vehicular access out front, no doubt enforced by a handful of guards.
We spent a couple hours scanning and researching everything we could find. The building was not only extravagant but highly advanced. Wake had clearly pulled out all the stops to make it as modern a building as existed anywhere in the world.
“The guy has an elevator for his car?” Ange said, shaking her head. “Now that’s one I haven’t seen before.”
I raised my eyebrows, then she showed
me part of the blueprint. He had the car elevator in addition to his own private walk-in one. I couldn’t see how it would be that much more convenient than just parking and stepping into a private normal elevator, but I chalked it up to vanity. I guess when you have the kind of money and ego that Wake has, you’ve got to be creative when it comes to over-the-top luxury. Impressing his billionaire friends in an expensive game of “top this, top that.”
We were so intrigued by the research that we kept at it straight through sunset, glancing up intermittently to take in the views. It was after 2000 and dark by the time our grumbling stomachs reminded us that we hadn’t eaten a meal since breakfast.
Ange solved the dilemma by grabbing her phone and calling in a to-go order from Salty Pete’s. We had one of their paper menus held up by a magnet on the fridge but didn’t need it. We’d eaten there so many times that we both knew it by heart.
She happily placed a few orders, then hung up. “Alright, Dodge,” she said. “I ordered, now you get to go and pick it up.”
“Oh, that’s how it works?” I said, smiling and leaning over her for a kiss.
She nodded, and I thought about it for a moment. We were still waiting for Wake’s minions to make a move that could come at any second.
“Ange, what if someone—”
“Then I’ll take care of them,” she stated. “It’s just a short drive, Logan. I think we’ll be fine.” She looked down at the laptop. “Besides, you know how much I love planning a potential raid.”
“Uh-huh. I think you’re getting sick of me.”
She laughed, grabbed my shirt, and pulled me in for a second kiss. “No. But if you don’t go and get dinner soon, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
I rose to my feet and stretched. Saying a quick goodbye to both Ange and Atticus, I strode outside, went down the stairs, hopped into the Tacoma, and headed out of the driveway.
TWENTY-FOUR
Downtown Key West