by Matthew Rief
Scott shook his head, giving me a confused smile. But seeing the seriousness in my eyes he said, “Are you crazy? You almost got killed. You just said you-”
“I know where he is,” I said, cutting him off.
He looked at me skeptically, then stepped through the door, shutting it behind him. “Salazar?” he said, raising his eyebrows at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yea.”
“Logan, what the hell? Why didn’t you tell him then?” When I didn’t reply he sighed and said, “Sheriff Wilkes is a good man, you know that. He had a long career with the FBI. The man’s a living legend.”
“Yea, well he’s also bound by his position.”
“And I’m not?” he said, shaking his head. “I mean shit Logan, I’m a senator for God’s sake.”
“That means you know as well as anyone exactly what will happen if I tell them where he is. He’ll be captured, taken to trial and thrown right back into prison. Nine Cuban guards were killed during his first prison break. How many will it be the next time around? How many guys have been manipulated to fight and die for him? No, I won’t tell a soul where he is because he’s mine. I’m going to hunt him down and I’m going to kill him because it has to be done, Scott.”
Scott stared at the ground, thinking over everything I’d said. “There’s a lot of eyes on this one, Logan. I can’t just go sneaking you out of the hospital to track down a gang leader who’s probably already dead anyway. And you heard Wilkes, he’s got a deputy here to keep tabs on you.”
“He’s not dead,” I said. “I shot the tail, Scott. I saw the damage done, saw the rear rotor fall to the beach and the black smoke spitting out of the boom. His chopper had maybe three minutes of flight time max. No more. His chopper crashed and he’s still alive.”
“And you’re telling me you know where he is? How?”
“Look, I’m going to get out of here and I’m going to go hunt him down whether you help me or not. But help me get out of here unseen and I’ll tell you.”
Scott eyed me with a frustrated gaze then shook his head and took a few steps towards the doorway. He took a quick look through the small window then walked back to my bed.
“Alright you dumb, stubborn ass. Have it your way,” he said then threw his hands in the air. “I’ll help you out of here on one condition. If he wants to come quietly and surrenders, we won’t kill him. Understand?” I didn’t exactly agree to it, but he continued anyway. “Now, what’s the plan?”
Ten minutes later I was out of bed and dressed in a pair of gray coveralls, complete with a ballcap that I kept low, covering most of my face. Fortunately, Ted the maintenance guy and I were about the same size, and he had a few extra uniforms stashed away in the nearby utility closet. I walked right out the back door of the hospital, meeting Scott who sat in his black SUV which he kept idled beside a dumpster and a wooden fence.
Opening the door, I hopped into the passenger seat and glanced at Scott who’s eyes were now shielded by a pair of dark, Oakley sunglasses.
“This seems a little unnecessary,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Yea, right. You heard the sheriff. That guy’s watching me like a hawk. If he knew I was leaving he’d have me tailed for sure. Then we’d never be able to go and get Salazar.”
Looking over at me as I slammed the door shut, he raised his hands and said, “Well, where to, Ted?”
I laughed and said, “To the marina.”
He nodded, put the SUV in drive and drove out of the parking lot. On the way to the marina, we passed by a garage sale on White Street and I spotted a kayak resting in the grass beside the curb.
“Hey, pull over, will you?” I said, pointing at the small paved driveway littered with plastic tables that were covered with various knick-knacks.
Scott raised his eyebrows and said, “You really think now’s the time for antiquing?”
Opening the door, I chuckled, turned back to Scott and said, “My wallet went to visit Davy Jones. You don’t happen to have a hunk of cash on you, do you?”
A minute later I was handing a round-bellied guy wearing one of those neon green visors a stack of four hundred-dollar bills. Then, Scott and I flattened the back row of seats and loaded the two-person sit-a-top kayak along with a pair of paddles into the back.
“What do we need that for?” Scott asked as we climbed back into the front seats of the SUV.
I looked through the windshield at the blue ocean which was just visible between a break in the houses and palm trees. “You’ll see.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
It took us five minutes to get the Baia ready to go, unhooking the power cables and water lines before untying the mooring lines from the cleats on the dock and shoving off. I’d changed out of the maintenance uniform and into a pair of cargo shorts, a cutoff tee shirt, and my black Converse low tops. We’d used ratchet straps to keep the kayak in place along the port side of the boat where it would be easy to drop into the water when the time came. Starting up the twin six hundred horsepower engines, I brought her out of the Conch Marina and into the open ocean.
It was just after 1100 and it was already over eighty degrees, with just a small handful of patchy, white clouds far out above the horizon. As I brought her up on plane and accelerated her just past her cruising speed of thirty-five knots, I turned to Scott who was seated on the white, half-moon cushioned seat beside me.
“Here, grab the helm for a minute, will ya?” I said as we were just passing Sunset Key. I stepped down into the salon and, opening one of the small cabinets above the stove, I pulled out a bottle of fast acting, extra strength Advil. Popping the bottle open, I threw two pills down the hatch and chased them down with a few swigs of water, trying to numb the pain as whatever the hospital had given me started to wear off.
Stepping back outside, I slide open one of the large storage compartments on the port side and pulled out a long and narrow yellow object that looked like a torpedo. I spent a moment looking it over, making sure that it powered on without any hiccups and that the line connecting it to the boat was in good shape. I’d performed routine maintenance on all of my equipment, so I was fairly certain that it would work just fine.
“Good idea,” Scott said, glancing back at me as I placed the magnetometer on the deck just aft of the sunbed. “There’s no way in hell that thing would miss a freaking helicopter.” I nodded. It was top of the line, which meant that it could detect a bottle cap a hundred feet down with ease.
I switched places with Scott, taking over at the helm and stretched out her legs, rocketing her through the water at over fifty knots. The calm sea shot by us in a windy blur as we moved due Southwest on a direct course for Dry Tortugas. In just over an hour we passed Fort Jefferson and then cruised onward past Loggerhead Key. Staring at the long, skinny island, I couldn’t help but think about the events which had transpired there. I had been close to biting it a few times, too close. Examining the island as best as I could, I saw a black pile of rubble in the center of the island, marking all that remained of the old, white house. Looking to my right, there was no salvage vessel in sight. Either it had sunk from the fire or, more than likely, it had been towed up north to be scrapped.
I drew my gaze to the western horizon. When I’d fallen from Salazar’s chopper, grabbed his revolver and fired off shots his direction he’d been heading west. And as the ammo ran out, I remembered watching the damaged helicopter continue in that direction until I passed out. Less than a mile from Loggerhead I eased back on the throttles, bringing her to an easy thirty knots, and threw the magnetometer into the water. As we dragged the yellow device behind us, I had Scott open up my laptop and observe for any signs of the lost helicopter.
Scott stared at the screen for a few minutes then looked out over the water in front of us and said, “So where are we going, Dodge?”
I adjusted our course slightly and said, “As I told you at the hospital, Salazar’s helicopter couldn’t have made it more th
an a few minutes in the air after he left Loggerhead.”
Scott shrugged, “So, what? He crashed somewhere and drifted aimlessly?”
“Or he found land.”
Scott shook his head, “I wasn’t aware that there was any land west of Dry Tortugas. Not for a hell of a long ways anyway.”
“There is one island,” I said, spotting the cliffs on the horizon in front of us just as I spoke the words. “And he would have seen it and most likely he’d have aimed for it.”
“What island?”
I glanced at Scott then nodded in front of us. “That island.”
Sliding out of the half-moon seat, he planted his feet on the deck, stood up and focused his gaze far out ahead of us. Looking at the island, he turned to me and said, “What, that pile of rocks?”
“To a bloodied guy without a boat, that pile of rocks would probably look a hell of a lot better than a swim back to Dry Tortugas or to Havana,” I said. “Besides, there’s more to that island than meets the eye.”
As I approached the island, I eased back on the throttles, bringing her down to about fifteen knots before hitting the reef line. A pod of bottlenose dolphins swam up along the starboard side, putting on a spectacular show as they glided through the water, occasionally jumping high into the air and landing with a smooth splash. As I admired the incredible creatures, marveling at how graceful and easy their movements were, the computer came to life, making more noise than the tin man walking through a security checkpoint.
I pulled back on the throttles, idling the Baia then moved back onto the swim platform to have a look. Scott, who’d also been curious as to what the magnetometer was detecting, was standing right beside me, peering through the surface of the clear water. About forty feet down there was a dark, foreign-looking object that we both instantly realized was the Bell 206 helicopter Salazar had taken off with. I patted Scott on the back then opened a small storage compartment and pulled out a clear, Cressi dive mask.
Sliding out of my tee shirt and shoes, I said, “Hold her steady for a moment.” Then strapping on the mask, I added, “I gotta see if he’s still down there.”
Though Doc had insisted I take it easy for a few more days, I could think of no better way to reinvigorate my body than a jump into warm, tropical water. Hurling my body over the end of the swim platform, I splashed down head first and reached the helicopter in a few, smooth strokes. She was on her left side and its rotor was jammed against a large Lobe Coral. Thankfully, all of its windows were shattered, making it easy for me to navigate in through the windshield frames. A quick glance revealed that the helicopter was completely empty.
I looked around for a few more seconds, just to see if there were any clues and when I didn’t find any I kicked my way back up to the surface. Breaking up into the warm, fresh air, I slid my mask down to hang around my neck and grabbed the ladder attached to the swim platform.
“Well?” Scott said as he offered his hand to help me up.
I shook my head. “Looks like we're going hunting.”
After toweling off, I decided to mark the location of the sunken helicopter on my GPS, just for future reference in the unlikely event I forgot where it was. When I was finished, I pushed the throttles forward, cruising around to the northwestern side of the island then killed the engine and dropped anchor right at the edge of the reef, about a quarter of a mile from where its steep cliffs met the sea. Grabbing my binoculars from the compartment beside the helm, I did a quick scan of the water and the side of the island then handed them to Scott.
“No sign of a fire,” he said.
I nodded and we both headed down into the salon. Moving into the main cabin, I entered my closet and opened the safe via the combination lock. I smiled as I looked over all of my weapons which included a Sig Sauer P226 pistol, an HK MP5N submachine gun, and a custom Colt M4A1. It was a little leaner than usual what with my .338 Lupia sniper rifle and my other Sig being lost, an unfortunate event which I planned to rectify as soon as possible.
“What’s your poison, Scott?” I said and he moved beside me. “It’s a small island. Only about three-hundred feet at its widest point. It’s mostly sloped and covered with palm trees, coconut trees and shrubs in the center. Though I didn’t see any extra weapons on his person, there was a shotgun in that helicopter when it went down. So, expect him to be armed with it.”
Looking over the contents of my safe for a brief moment, he replied, “I’ll take the sub. I know how attached you are to your M4 and Sig.”
I handed him the compact submachine gun then grabbed my extra Sig, strapped the leg holster around my right thigh and checked the magazine to make sure all fifteen rounds were there. Then I snatched the M4 as well, slinging it over my shoulder just in case. Sure, that much firepower was excessive considering Scott and I could probably take him out using only dive knives. But if there was one thing I’d learned in my time in the SEALs, it’s that you can never be over-prepared for a skirmish.
Moving back up to the deck, we unstrapped the kayak and lowered it into the water. Then I locked up the Baia, grabbed the paddles and we climbed aboard.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
We paddled quickly over the shallow, colorful reef, heading towards the steep cliffs of Monte Cristo. The reef was teeming with life from a large hogfish, its bright orange body easily visible on the bottom, a school of Spanish mackerel, their silver bodies twinkling in the sunlight, and a vibrant blue tang. I also spotted a handful of lobster, their antennas sticking out of the crevices below.
“I see why we brought the kayak,” Scott said, looking over the side at the reef which was only about three feet beneath the bottom of the plastic at times. Looking forward at the cliffs just a few hundred feet in front of us he added, “Now if only we had some rock climbing gear.”
“We won’t need it,” I said, as I led the way along the cliff, keeping an eye out for any movement on the island.
Scott started to ask me what I meant by that but stopped himself mid-sentence when he saw the cliffs start to open up, revealing a narrow gap leading towards the center of the island. Paddling only on the right side for a few strokes, I turned us port then eased us right into the channel.
“Incredible,” he said, shaking his head as he looked up at the twenty-foot cliffs rising out of the water on both sides. “I’ve never seen an island like this in the Keys.”
“As far as I know it’s the only one,” I said, paddling slowly around a small bend. “There’s a small lagoon up here and a beach. Keep your eyes peeled. If he’s here, he most likely heard the Baia approach.” I kept my voice low and my eyes and ears alert.
As usual, the island was quiet, the only sounds being water splashing softly against the rocks and sand ahead of us and the gentle swaying of palm leaves. Entering into the lagoon, I surveyed the palm trees and assorted bushes, searching for any sign of our quarry. We beached the kayak slowly and quietly, stepped out onto the sand and then slid it up a few more feet. Sliding my M4 back over my shoulder, I grabbed my Sig and pulled it out of my leg holster.
As we moved up into the small cluster of rocks, bushes, and trees, Scott veered off to my right flank, keeping about twenty feet of distance between us. The last thing either of us wanted was to be taken by surprise by a guy with a shotgun. A spray of bullets from a shotgun shell could’ve taken us both down with one shot.
I kept my movements slow and methodical, careful not to make too much noise as I pushed aside a few majesty palm branches and stepped over fallen palm leaves. The effects of Tropical Storm Fay were obvious as there were far more branches and coconuts scattered about the ground than usual. Moving into a small clearing, I held up my fist and knelt to the ground, my eyes catching something unusual in the dirt at my feet. I heard Scott stop as I examined a shoe print that I knew hadn’t been left by me when I was there a few days earlier. You could count on one hand the number of living people who knew that there was a lush oasis beyond the cliffs of that island. Judging
by the size of the shoe and based on how fresh the imprint was, I knew that it was Salazar’s.
I moved slowly, following a few more prints that lead into a thick patch of Inkberry bushes and Cordgrass under the canopy of low hanging palm trees. I glanced over at Scott who was frozen in his tracks to my right, his hands clutching my MP5N. Making eye contact, I motioned towards the patch of bushes. Having stayed on the small island many times before, I knew every inch of it by heart. On the other side of the bushes was the largest flat portion on the island. About a thousand square feet of lush, tropical grass where I would usually set up my camp.
As we both stepped through the bushes, we heard footsteps coming from the clearing. I squinted through a patch of ferns and saw Salazar walking with a radio in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He looked terrible. His red button-up shirt and his dress pants were covered in dirt and tattered to hell. Even though it had only been a few days, I could tell that he’d lost some weight and he had patches of black stubble covering his chin. Sitting down under the shade of a palm tree, he brought the radio into his lap and pressed a few buttons.
“Piece of shit,” he said, trying the buttons over and over again. Clearly his radio had been damaged when his helicopter crashed into the sea, which was a good thing for us because it meant he hadn’t been able to call in the cavalry.
In his seated position he was facing away from me so, glancing over at Scott, I motioned for us to both move in. He circled quietly around to the right, using a portion of a jutting cliff for cover. I went straight for the seated gangster, reaching the clearing in a few seconds and continuing slowly through the grass. When I’d crept to within a few strides of him he froze suddenly, and I could tell that he’d heard me.
“Don’t fucking move,” I said, pulling back the metal hammer of my Sig with a loud clink.
I almost squeezed the trigger as he turned his head and looked at me. “Well, holy shit,” he said shaking his head. His voice was raspy, which wasn’t surprising since there wasn’t a source of fresh water on the island. His only hope would’ve been whatever was left pooled on the leaves after the heavy rains of Fay. “You’re like a damn pest, you know that?” He coughed, glanced at the shotgun lying on the grass just a few inches from his right hand then added, “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”