Showdown in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  Jane listened intently. She was smart, a fine law enforcement officer. My explanation satisfied her a little, but not much. It was still a very possible impending threat to her community.

  “We’ll be running a tight shift, then,” she said. “Working even more overtime than usual and keeping our eyes peeled for the killer. Just do me a favor and let me know when this intel of yours comes in and Wake’s being taken out. I’d like to know when I can take a breath.”

  I nodded and told her I’d keep her up to date on whatever we found out. She turned and headed toward the opening of the alley and the strand of yellow tape.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’ve got to go and tell Mrs. Crawford what happened.” She paused a moment and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’ve known them since I was little.”

  She looked forward, then continued on her stride.

  I looked over at the body again. I felt a surge of anger deep within me. We needed to find Wake and make him pay. For everything. And we needed to do it soon.

  Or this is just the beginning.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I skirted around the cluster of officers and detectives, and moved out of the alleyway. Bending under the yellow tape, I weaved through the assembled group of worried spectators. It was much larger than when I’d arrived. I heard the news of what had happened being circulated in hushed tones, punctuated by gasps and hands covering mouths.

  I strode down the sidewalk toward my Tacoma. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I pulled out my phone and saw that I had two missed calls from Ange. The last one was from four minutes earlier, right when I’d been talking to Jane. I hadn’t even noticed it vibrate. I quickly called her back and lifted it to the side of my face.

  “Logan?” she answered. “Are you alright?” Her voice was raised, her tone laced with worry.

  “I’m fine, Ange,” I said. “Sorry I didn’t answer.”

  She let out a breath. “Jeez, don’t do that. What’s going on?”

  She knew me well enough to tell that something had happened. My tone had been unconsciously altered by what I’d just seen, and she’d quickly picked up on it.

  “Mayor Crawford’s been murdered.”

  “What? Did you see it happen?”

  “No. I’m at the scene now. He was killed on his way home from the event at the waterfront. And the killer left a note. For me.”

  “What did it say?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get home,” I said, starting up the engine. “On my way now.”

  My mind was stuck in a haze as I turned around and drove with the flashing police lights in my rearview mirror. The city passed by in a blur. Before I knew it, I was pulling back into my driveway on Palmetto Street.

  Ange met me at the base of the stairs, and we carried the food up into the living room. I plopped onto a dining chair and told her about the note.

  “Wake’s trying to get you to turn yourself in,” she said, shaking her head.

  “It looks that way.” I opened the boxes of food. “Come on, we should really eat.”

  I was hungry and the food was delicious, but I still had a hard time keeping it down. The image of Crawford’s body lingered in my mind. I’d only met him a handful of times, but he was well liked and respected by everyone who knew him. He was a good man by all accounts. And I felt responsible for his death. I hadn’t killed him by any means, but I knew that if it wasn’t for me, it wouldn’t have happened. His life had been a pawn in their scheme to take me down.

  While we finished eating, Ange looked off into space for a moment.

  “What are we going to do about this, Logan?” she said.

  It was a good question. One that I didn’t have a good answer to. She could see that by my expression.

  I grabbed my phone. “I’m gonna call Scott.”

  I punched in my old friend’s number while stepping out onto the balcony. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I looked out over the yard and channel, my mind dwelling on Crawford.

  Scott answered on the third ring. I could tell that he was busy, but I wasn’t about to give a damn.

  I told him what had happened, and he stepped away from the group he was associating with.

  “Logan, we need to think this through,” he said, sensing my anger. “We’re still waiting on Murph to get ba—”

  “Tell me why we can’t just have agents close in on Wake’s tower right now?” I said, cutting him off.

  He sighed. “Because we’d need a warrant to do that. And no judge would grant it. And that’s not a place that you just break into on a hunch or some death wish gangster’s word. This isn’t Honduras, and we don’t have the element of surprise on our side this time, even if he is there.”

  I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t take the idea of waiting for something else to happen. I took in a few breaths to collect myself. I understood the logic behind Scott’s words, but that didn’t make me feel any better about the situation.

  “If you or Murph don’t have anything for me by tomorrow night,” I said, my voice authoritative, “I’m taking things into my own hands.”

  I hung up before he could reply and stepped to the railing, gripping it hard. I thought about Crawford and how, at that very moment, Jane was giving his wife the worst news of her life. I leaned forward and let out a few angry yells. I wanted to find Wake and strangle the life out of him for what he’d done.

  Ange stepped out and wrapped an arm around me. She asked if Scott had anything, and I told her about my ultimatum. She massaged my shoulders, and then we both had a few drinks to take the edge off our situation.

  Even after the initial anger faded, my resolution didn’t. I meant what I’d said and was preparing to make a move the following day. Twenty-four hours. That was it. Then I’d go after Wake myself and put an end to everything, one way or another.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  When the sun set the following evening without a word from Scott, I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand just sitting around, waiting for another incident like the night before. I told Ange as much, then rose to my feet in the living room.

  We’d performed enough reconnaissance of the Wake Corporation Tower, and I felt confident that we could get inside and up to Wake’s private level. Even if we missed him, I was sure that we’d be able to gather intel as to his whereabouts. I trusted Murph, but I couldn’t wait around any longer.

  I took one step toward the master bedroom, then froze as a car crunched into the driveway.

  My phone alerted me to the vehicle. I silenced it, then stepped toward the kitchen window that displayed the front yard and driveway. My right hand hovered over my holstered Sig as I peered at an SUV. Ange moved over beside me, ready for anything.

  We watched with focused gazes as the vehicle stopped, the engine shut off, and Scott stepped out from the driver’s side.

  I relaxed my right hand and headed for the door. I opened it just as Scott reached the top step. He was dressed in his typical suit and carrying a briefcase.

  After a quick greeting, he entered, and I locked the door behind him. Upon Scott’s request, we moved into the spare bedroom and drew the curtains. He set his briefcase on a small wooden desk, opened it, and pulled out a Toughbook laptop—the kind we used to use in warzones or that you typically see at construction sites.

  “It’s set with a private, secure connection,” Scott said.

  He brought up a government video chat program, then linked up with Murph. The expert hacker was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood over his head. The room he was in was so dark that we couldn’t see his face.

  “Good to see you again, Logan,” he said, his voice altered to sound baritone like in the movies.

  “You too.”

  I’d only interacted with the notorious hacker a small handful of times. Only once had I met him in person. Years earlier, I’d fought off a couple of foreign headhunters looking to take him out for a lofty sum. After that, Murph had been more than willing to retur
n the favor however he could. He’d had my back more than once and liked to send me his prototype gadgets now and then.

  “Angelina Fox. Your reputation proceeds you.”

  “You too. And it’s Dodge now.”

  “No invite to the wedding?”

  “Even if I could’ve figured out your address,” I said, “you wouldn’t have showed.”

  Murph was more ghost than man. Everywhere and nowhere. There was no telling where he was at any particular time. As he chatted with us, he could be in a hotel room in Reykjavik or right down the street from us.

  “With respect,” I added. “I don’t have time for pleasantries. There’s already been one murder and a promise of more if we don’t do something. What have you figured out from the thumb drive?”

  “It wasn’t the most secure data storage device I’ve ever encountered,” he said. “But it was close.” Murph paused a moment. “But I was able to crack it. And I figured out what Wake’s planning to do next.” He took a sip of an energy drink. “You guys heard of the Atlantic Shipping Company?”

  The seemingly random shift in the conversation caught us all off guard. Scott nodded, though.

  “Sure. One of the largest maritime shipping companies in the world.”

  I’d heard of it as well. It was a Swiss-Italian company if I wasn’t mistaken.

  “And the biggest global competitor to the Wake Corporation,” Murph continued. “Well, for the past few months, there have been reports of safety violations and falsification of records directed toward the company. There was even one particularly potent accusation that the company was using outdated and faulty propulsion systems that could result in catastrophic danger to their vessels and crew.”

  “Any merit to the accusations?” I asked.

  “None. Completely made up. I managed to trace a few back to their original sources—no easy task—and found that the members of the media responsible for the accusations received large sums of money transferred into secret offshore accounts.”

  “Let me guess,” Ange said, “the money came from the Wake Corporation?”

  “In short, yes. One of their smaller foreign subsidiaries. It’s all been a buildup. A setting of the stage. Like chess. Wake has all the pieces where he wants them. Now all he has to do is move in for checkmate. And that’s the plan I found buried in the drive.”

  “What’s he going to do, Murph?” Scott asked.

  “He’s going to blow up the Josephine,” he stated. “It’s ASC’s newest shipping vessel. Wake’s going to blow it up right in the Port of Miami so that the entire world can see just how unsafe his competitor is.”

  He paused a moment, letting the revelation settle.

  “The worst part is,” he added, “the entire crew will be on board along with a group of people being given a tour. In all, I estimate that if Wake’s plan unfolds, over a hundred innocent people will die.”

  We fell silent. My eyes scanned from the screen to Scott, then to Ange.

  I understood the drive to be successful, to work hard and smart so that you can create a great and fulfilling life for you and your family. But at what point do you draw the line?

  The shoulder along the moral high ground is steep. One slight deviation and you slide easily farther and farther away.

  I wondered if Richard Wake could even see the road anymore. He was willing to kill innocent people for financial gain without batting an eye. To end lives in order to appease shareholders and pad his bank account and his own ego.

  Though the evidence wasn’t conclusive, I knew that Wake was fully capable of such actions. A few years back, he’d planned an elaborate sabotage of an oil drilling platform that would have resulted in one of the worst environmental disasters in history. He’d also been the puppet master behind a corrupt dealing years earlier that would have resulted in the death of sixteen Special Forces soldiers, including myself.

  “If Wake takes down ASC,” Murph continued, “it won’t be long before he’ll have a monopoly on all global maritime shipping.”

  “That would essentially give him control over one of the major components of globalization,” Scott said. “Wake’s rich, powerful, and influential now. But if this plan succeeds?” He shook his head. “He’ll be all but untouchable.”

  “Any idea when this is supposed to happen, Murph?” I asked.

  “The Josephine is scheduled to come into port at six pm EST tomorrow evening and it’s scheduled to depart early the following morning. The prospective shareholder tour I alluded to earlier is tomorrow from eight to ten. That’s the smallest window I can come up with for the time being.”

  “That’s great intel, Murph,” Scott said. “Though I expected nothing less.”

  He bowed slightly.

  “Murph, do you have any idea where Wake is?” I asked. “Was there anything about his possible whereabouts on the thumb drive?”

  Murph paused. “Nothing specific, no. Look, it sounds like you guys are more familiar with his character than I am. But from what I’ve read about the guy, I don’t think he’d miss a show like blowing up a competitor’s pride and joy.”

  “Wake’s Tower,” I said.

  “Yeah. That would be my guess. Based on my glance at the plans I sent over to you yesterday, he has a nice view of the port from both his office and his private residence on the sixtieth floor. It’s where I’d be if I was a filthy rich, evil, egotistical maniac.”

  The four of us fell silent for a moment. I thought about everything that had happened over the past few days. Then I ran over Murph’s words again and thought over the best possible courses of action. There was one that stuck out to me as best, but it was risky. Especially for me.

  “Uh-oh, I know that look,” Ange said, examining me.

  “Seen it a few times myself,” Scott added. “What are you thinking, Dodge?”

  I took a moment to run through the options one more time in my head. I could only come up with one that had a decent enough chance of success.

  “I’m thinking that I agree to Wake’s demands,” I stated. “That I hand myself over to him.”

  Scott and Ange exchanged glances, then both looked at me like I was crazy.

  “It’s not like we have a lot of viable options here,” I said. “You heard Murph. Wake’s blowing this ship up tomorrow night.” I continued before they could protest. “And Mayor Crawford was murdered, and you saw the note left by the killer. I don’t want to be responsible for any more innocent deaths if I can put a stop to it. And I can. All I have to do is hand myself over.”

  “We could break into the tower tonight,” Ange said. “Wasn’t that your original desire anyway?”

  “And risk spooking Wake again?” I said. “No, if I turn myself over, he’ll let his guard down. He’ll think that he’s in the clear since his nemesis isn’t on the loose and looking to put a stop to his plans. He has no idea that my friends are just as good, if not better, at taking down bad guys than I am.”

  “How can you be sure that he won’t kill you the moment he sees you?” Scott said.

  I shrugged. “I guess I can’t be certain. But I doubt it. Why do you think he wants me alive? He wants to teach me a lesson. He wants me to see his plan succeed, wants to see the look in my eye as the ship blows up and all those innocent people die. ’Cause that’s the thing about evil guys like Wake—at least you can always count on them to do the vilest thing.”

  “So, you’re gambling with your life?” Ange said. “Since I’m your wife, naturally that makes me feel great.”

  “Any action we take at this point is a gamble, Ange. But I feel this is the right gamble to take. We can do this.” I looked around from Ange to Scott to Murph. “We can all do this. And when we do, we’ll not only prevent a major act of devastating violence, we’ll also put down one of the most evil and powerful guys on earth. Sounds like one hell of a cause to me.”

  We spent ten minutes discussing the pros and cons of various strategies. When the time passed, they agreed with me an
d my conclusion. Despite the risks and the danger it put me in, it was the plan that made the most sense.

  Once we were all on board, we started laying out a plan. We’d all need to be on the same page if it was going to work. When we were discussing how I could be tracked while under Wake’s control, Murph chimed in.

  “Logan, did you open that last box of prototype goodies I sent you?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  The inventions Murph sent were always helpful, like the phone tracker we’d used in Cuba to locate part of Dante’s gang months earlier. But I hadn’t had time to fully look over the last items he’d sent a week before.

  “I’d hoped to have one of the gadgets inside ready for you to use in Honduras,” he said. “But if you’re going to hand yourself over to Wake, I think you’ll need it now more than ever. Do you have it at your house?”

  I told him I did, then moved out of the spare bedroom, down the short hallway, and into the master bedroom. In the walk-in closet, I grabbed the box from the top of my dresser then headed back to the group.

  Murph instructed me to open it up, then told me to grab the small plastic case.

  “Inside is a small personal tracking device,” Murph explained.

  I opened the box. Small was an understatement. This thing was tiny, minuscule even—about the size of a BB pellet.

  “Hide it in your mouth,” Murph said. “It latches onto a back molar. It’s roughly the same size as a routine filling and therefore negligible to standard metal detecting equipment. Even if they wand you like they do when you go through airport security, they won’t find anything. But we’ll be able to pinpoint your precise location at all times. It’ll make finding you, and Wake, a hell of a lot easier.”

  I smiled as I examined the little device. Murph was a genius, no doubt about that. He was someone you wanted to have on your side when doing this kind of thing.

  He instructed me on how to attach it. It felt a little strange at first, but I couldn’t even spot it using a mirror. With the tracker in place, we continued diving into the plan. Murph had to go, but he said he’d be in contact and send over anything else he found out. I was surprised he’d stayed online as long as he had. He thrived on being as short and concise as possible, never dwelling anywhere, whether on a call or in person.