Hunted in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  I eased the Baia into slip twenty-four, the same slip I’d used since I’d bought the boat four months earlier, and Jack tied her off. I killed the engines then hooked up the water and shore power cables. Glancing at my phone, I saw that Sam had recently replied and told me that she’d be at the house when I got back. For the first month after finding and salvaging the Aztec treasure, Sam and I had lived together on the Baia. Then, we’d found a beautiful house over on Palmetto Street and I decided to become a homeowner, using the finder’s fee from the portion of the treasure that was sold.

  Though we’d agreed to donate most of the money, Arian Nazari, the billionaire oil tycoon who’d helped us take down Black Venom, had insisted on our accepting a four percent finder’s fee, to be split amongst myself, Jack, Scott and Sam. Once all of the treasure was properly excavated and loaded carefully onto salvage vessels, we discovered that there were over twenty tons of gold bars which had gone down at Neptune’s Table aboard the Intrepid almost half a century ago. Though the majority of the artifacts were given to various museums, including a handful to go on display on the second story of Salty Pete’s, we’d decided to sell the gold bars. At eight hundred and sixty-nine dollars an ounce, the twenty tons equated to just over half a billion dollars. At one percent, I’d banked a cool three million, after paying Uncle Sam his dues, of course. After using a large chunk of the money to buy a house in Key West and another handful to help fix up Salty Pete’s Bar and Grill, I stuck the rest into a savings account and hadn’t touched it since.

  The majority of the treasure, however, was donated to various organizations in Mexico, many of which were ran by Nazari. In just the four short months since finding the treasure, he’d already sent us stacks of photos showing houses, schools, libraries, wells, and other much needed structures constructed for the poorest communities in Mexico. All in all, he estimated that over a million lives could potentially be saved by the money made from selling the treasure.

  “I’m feeling a nap and then a wild night on the town,” Jack said as he grabbed his gear and hopped over the transom. “Isaac’s at a friend’s house tonight and the Wayward Suns are playing over at Pete’s tonight. What do you say, bro?”

  I laughed. “The Wayward Suns? I’ve never heard of them.”

  “They’re a local band from Key Largo. Sort of a Bob Marley meets the Zac Brown Band kind of sound. Just come and see them tonight,” Jack grinned. “I know you’ll like them, bro.”

  Intrigued, I told Jack that I would be there but I had a few things I needed to get done, a couple errands and equipment I needed for the boat. And I needed to check on Sam who I hadn’t seen since the previous morning.

  “The mic gets hot at nine,” Jack said with a grin while throwing his gear over his shoulder and walking down the dock towards his boat.

  I grabbed my black Camelbak which carried a few must-have items I took with me almost wherever I went. It carried my Sig Sauer P226 pistol, complete with a custom gold trident etched into the side of the slide. Bread and butter for Navy SEALs for the past twenty years, the P226 was deemed by many, including myself, as the most reliable handgun on the planet. In my years of Navy and mercenary experience, I’d rarely gone anywhere without it strapped to my side.

  The bag also had two extra fifteen round magazines, both full at all times, my Cressi dive knife, a rain slicker, my night vision monocular, and a custom first aid kit I’d assembled based on key items I’d utilized over the years in combat situations. I’d started using the bag after having to fight off Black Venom for the Aztec treasure, knowing that I could never be too careful and that, if trouble ever found me, even in paradise, I’d be ready for it.

  I kept my cargo shorts and tee shirt on, but slipped into a pair of black, low top Converse then locked up the Baia and headed down the dock with my backpack over my shoulder. Before I reached the mahogany stairs leading up to the parking lot I heard a voice call out to me.

  “Logan!” the voice said and turning around I realized that it was Gus. He moved swiftly down the dock and was carrying a small package in his hands. “Hey, have you talked to the Sheriff yet?”

  Gus Henderson was the owner of Conch Marina along with the Greasy Pelican, a restaurant that sat on pilings over the water at the edge of the marina. He’d inherited the place from his parents to whom it had also been passed down. The Henderson’s were real Conchs, through and through, and were as much a part of the island as Key Lime Pie. He was in his early forties and about half a foot shorter than my six-foot, two inches. He had a strong lean build, tanned skin and black, curly hair.

  “Hey, Gus. The sheriff you say?”

  “Yea,” Gus said as he reached me at the base of the steps. “He came by this morning and said he needed to talk to you. Looked pretty important.”

  Intrigued, I asked, “He didn’t say what it was about?”

  Gus just shook his head then handed me the package in his hands. “Here, this came for you today.”

  I smiled, knowing exactly what it was by the weight of it. My new toy had arrived. Seeing him hand me the package reminded me that I still needed to change some of my shipping addresses to my house.

  “Thanks, Gus. You going to Pete’s tonight?”

  He smiled, “I wouldn’t miss a chance to see the Wayward Suns again. Those guys light it up every time.”

  “See you there then,” I said before turning and walking up the steps.

  My truck, a black Toyota Tacoma four-door with an extended cab and off-road tires, was parked right up alongside a small wooden fence, facing the marina. A few months earlier, I’d been rammed off the road by Black Venom over on the seven-mile bridge. The Tacoma had flipped a few times and had looked like hell, but after a few weeks in the auto shop here in Key West, it looked good as new again. I slid my hand over the freshly painted exterior, not so much as a small scratch remained from the incident.

  Unlocking the door, I climbed inside, set the package and my backpack on the passenger seat beside me, started up the engine and turned onto Caroline street. Though it wasn’t the heavy tourist season, there were a few people walking the paved sidewalks along the waterfront, watching the boats come in and out of the harbor and navigating through the gift shops and local eateries. Many restaurants closed for the summer, the owners taking a few months off to travel or unwind in preparation for another busy season in Key West. Jack owned Rubio Charters, a diving and fishing charter, and his boat the Calypso was moored just down the dock from mine in Conch Marina. Though he often talked about closing for a few months, I’d never seen him do it before. He loved the Keys and he loved taking people out on the water, watching their eyes light up as they explored all of the reefs, aquatic life, and shipwrecks the islands had to offer.

  It was only a five-minute drive to my house from the marina. I was just about to pull onto my street when I heard the unmistakable sounds of police sirens coming from behind me. Glancing through my rearview mirror, I saw a black and white, city of Key West police vehicle with its red and blue lights blaring from behind me. Releasing the gas and easing my foot onto the brake, I pulled into the parking lot of a Fausto’s Food Palace. A moment later, I saw sheriff Wilkes climb out of the car and walk towards me. His tall, lean frame and his dark black complexion unmistakable. Though I’d been told that he was in his late forties, he still moved like a man much younger and looked more like late thirties. I rolled down my window just before he reached my door.

  “You know I have a cell phone, sheriff,” I said, grinning as he placed his hand on the top of my truck and looked inside behind a pair of Oakley sunglasses. I’d only interacted with him a few times, but I’d gotten the impression that he was more of an old-school cop. The kind of guy who probably still had fax machines in his office.

  “I wanted to speak with you in person, Mr. Dodge,” he said. His voice was low and powerful. “Would you mind following me down to the station?”

  I didn’t know him very well, but I could tell that it was obviously something
important. Though I was anxious to get home and check up on Sam, I knew that would have to wait.

  “Sure. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he turned and walked back to his car.

  Rolling up the window and cranking up the AC, I wondered what he had to talk to me about. Whatever it was, the guy sure had a flair for the dramatic.

  A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot in front of a two-story, faded pink building with white trim and the words Key West Police Station etched into the front. It was located right off Roosevelt Blvd just after where it transitioned from US 1. A moment later, sheriff Wilkes parked right beside me and I killed the engine and stepped out. He led me into the well air-conditioned building, past a few desks at reception and into a back office with a glass door. Ushering me inside, he offered a chair and shut the door behind us. It was the same chair I’d sat in after fighting off Black Venom at Neptune’s Table four months ago. Over thirty dead guys and two yachts up in flames made our first interaction rocky at best. The truth was that I’d never much liked dealing with law enforcement, all of their regulations and traditions just seemed to make getting anything done a headache.

  “I’d ask you if you know why you’re here, Mr. Dodge,” he said, sitting behind his desk across from me. “But that would be a waste of time. What I’m about to discuss with you his currently classified.”

  I nodded and rolled his words over in my mind. I was intrigued but also confused as to why, if what he wanted to discuss was classified, he’d decided to tell me. Though I still had a top-secret clearance, a status given to me while I was in the Navy and renewed a few times since, it was a need-to-know basis.

  When he saw that I was all ears, he continued, “How much do you know about Benito Salazar?”

  I raised my eyebrows at the name. “Just basic info, really. He was captured in that raid in Miami, what? Three years ago now?”

  The sheriff nodded, “Almost four. It took a while for him to be convicted but once he was they locked him away for two life sentences with no chance of early parole.”

  Benito Salazar was a notorious Cuban socialite, gambler, and murderer. He also happened to be the leader of one of Cuba’s most powerful gangs, a group of outcasts which, in their heyday, had their money in the pockets of many politicians, including a couple in the States. Salazar had been on the FBI’s most wanted list for four years when he was finally captured in a shootout in one of his houses just outside of Miami. A few special agents had worked their way into the tight-knit group and took Salazar down from the inside. His trial had been one of the most popular in history. He’d tried whatever means necessary, including bribes to both the judge and the lawyers, to soften the sentence against him, but none of it had worked in the end.

  I glanced over at the sheriff who was eyeing me with a stone-cold expression. “What makes you bring him up?” I asked. “What? Did he finally get sick of living with himself and do the world a favor?”

  He shook his head. “No, unfortunately. He escaped from El Combinado del Este Prison late last night.”

  My eyes grew wide quickly as he caught all of my interest. El Combinado del Este was Cuba’s maximum-security prison and one of the best in the world.

  “Escaped? How in the hell could he have escaped?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I don’t have all of the specifics. But I do have it on good authority that he’s going to try and come to US soil.”

  The idea struck me as ludicrous. “Why would he ever try something as stupid as that?” If I were the highest profile escaped con in the world I’d run away, get as far off the grid as possible and never stumble onto it again.

  “Again, I don’t know. I just wanted you to be aware of what was happening.”

  Antsy, I stood up from my chair and paced back and forth a few times, lost in thought. Turning to face him I said, “You think he’s gonna come here, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I just like to err on the side of caution if I can. Look, after Salazar was locked away, the gang dispersed to all but nothing. But I have no doubt that he still has followers that will remain loyal to him.”

  “And you’re telling me all of this because…”

  He grinned. “Because I’ve heard a lot about you and I’m impressed by the way you handled Black Venom, even if you didn’t notify us about anything,” he raised an eyebrow at me then continued, “And… because you seem to stumble into trouble a lot. I just want you to dial it down for a few weeks until we nab this guy.”

  I laughed. I hadn’t even been in a bar fight in four months. And technically Club Indigo isn’t even a bar. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

  “Just call me if you learn anything, okay? I don’t want to be in the dark again like last time trouble came to Key West.”

  Nodding I said, “Alright.” We shook hands and just before I turned to leave I said, “Just out of curiosity, if this just happened, how did you hear about it so fast? No offense, but isn’t this kind of thing a little above your pay grade?”

  “I’m retired FBI,” he replied. “Wore the suit for twenty-six years and I still have contacts. The Keys attract a lot of people willing to sacrifice deep pockets for sandy pockets.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  I hopped into my Tacoma and drove out of the station parking lot, heading to my house on Palmetto Street. While driving, I thought about what Sheriff Wilkes had said and about how Scott had been airlifted out of the middle of the Everglades earlier that morning. There was no doubt in my mind that Salazar escaping was the reason he was picked up, which also meant that the threat of him coming to the states was real enough to make some waves. When I pulled into the brick driveway, driving between a row of palm trees and two pink, blooming snow bushes, I saw that Sam’s car, a white 2006 Ford Fiesta, was parked under the right side of the house which was propped up on stilts.

  The truth was I hadn’t really been in the market for a house. I enjoyed living on the Baia. Though it was relatively small on the inside, it was fancy, and I’d always liked the cozy feeling of sleeping on a boat. But when the stilted house on Palmetto Street went on the market, Jack insisted that I tour it, assuring me that it was the perfect house for me. I guess I agreed with him because three days after first stepping foot inside of it I was signing the papers and handed the keys.

  Driving in slowly, I parked alongside Sam’s Fiesta, grabbed my backpack and the package Gus had given me, then walked for the stairs leading up the right side of the house to a wraparound porch. It was painted a light gray color with white trim and, since it was on stilts, it was designed to withstand even the strongest hurricanes and tropical storms.

  Walking up the stairs, I took a quick look out back at the small covered boat lift which housed my twenty-two-foot, Robalo center console on the channel at the edge of my backyard. The great little boat had come with the house and it was a nice way to commute to the Baia if I didn’t feel like driving. Stepping towards the side door, I slid my key inside then unlocked the door and stepped through. At only seventeen hundred square feet, the two-bedroom house felt bigger than it was, with a good-sized living room and large windows that looked out over the palm trees, green grass and the channel just beyond. It also had a nice porch which expanded off the front side and had a hammock as well as a nice barbeque. I shut the door, slid my backpack over my shoulder and set it alongside the package on the gray couch facing our television.

  Hearing voices coming from the master bedroom, I walked down the small hallway.

  “Sam?” I said, my voice just loud enough to be heard anywhere in the house.

  “I’m in here,” I heard her call out. Nudging open the door, I saw her sitting on the edge of our king-sized bed, talking on her phone and staring at her laptop. Her dark hair was tied back and she was wearing her sexy librarian glasses. On the other side of the room, I saw two large roller bags leaning against the wall.

  She smiled as I strolled in and
I leaned in beside her and kissed her cheek. Holding her free hand against the microphone, she said, “Can you give me a minute? I just gotta finish this project.”

  “No worries,” I replied. “I’m just gonna go for a run along the waterfront then.”

  She thanked me and as I walked out, I thought I heard a man’s voice through the small phone speaker and I assumed it must have been Tony or one of her other colleagues. Changing into a pair of running shorts and a tank top, I took off down Venetian Drive and ran to the waterfront and continued along US-1. Taking the Florida Keys Overseas Heritage Trail, which spanned almost all the way from Key Largo to Key West, I headed South towards the southernmost tip of the United States.

  Even though it was over eighty degrees and sunny I didn’t care. In the SEALs, I’d trained in all environments, from sub-zero bone chilling snowdrifts in Alaska to over a hundred and twenty-degree scorching deserts near California’s Death Valley. Though I did get a few skeptical looks as I ran along the waterfront, enjoying the ocean breeze as I ran through Fort Zachary Taylor state park, looped around, then headed back towards the house.

  Stopping in my driveway, I placed my hands on my knees and caught my breath which had been gone long before I’d started my finishing kick. After about a minute, I glanced at my phone and saw that I’d ran nine miles at a six-minute mile pace. Not bad, though I’d wanted to up my speed by the time the Key West Half Marathon came around in January. Once I’d caught my breath, I did a quick thirty-minute circuit, utilizing a small gym I’d made in the space under my house by assembling a pull-up bar, punching bag, speed bag, kettlebells, battle ropes and various other equipment. By the time I was finished, my body was burning all over and it felt amazing to head upstairs, make a fruity protein shake and enjoy it on the hammock I’d installed on the porch.