Red Tide

by W. Dale Justice

  Sherrod gained the deck, helped his new friend up, and headed to the cabin below. The stair process was repeated, this time Sherrod leading the way with the drunk half carried on his shoulders. I should just let the jackass fall down the stairs, he thought.

  Once below, he guided the drunk to a couch, plopped him down on his back, and looked around. Nice, very nice. Lots of empty liquor bottles everywhere. At least he wasn’t a puking drunk. Returning to his host, he frisked him for his wallet and ID. South Carolina driver’s license, and boat registered in the Port of Charleston. Divorced, no custody, and alone living in his Key West condo. This will do just fine. Sherrod quickly found the bar, and made himself a drink. “Where do you keep your duct tape, my friend?”

  Bobby Lee had nowhere to go, so he sat in a bar across from the Municipal Field on Boca Key, also home to the Naval Air Station, Key West. The private planes had a very small section of the field. The rest belonged to the Navy. He drank beer and looked at all the private planes parked on the tarmac. Any one of them could make the flight to Cuba. So close, yet so far away. He kicked himself for not taking flying lessons.

  He thought of calling Sherrod to give him an update, but there was nothing to report. Besides, Sherrod had pissed him off the last time they spoke. The little shit was growing a pair. He took another swig of beer, and thought how tired he was from running and dodging all day, for what? All his plans had unraveled. His thoughts were interrupted, as his burner phone rang, startling him. That fucking Simpson!

  “Yeah?” he was ready to pounce.

  “Bobby Lee, it’s Cyrus.” Holy crap, Cyrus. “Can you talk?”

  “Yeah. What have you got?” Hope was back.

  “The boatyard and your yacht is toast. Them Feds are sittin’ on it tight. They barely let me go.”

  “I figured as much. I need a ride outta’ town, Cyrus. I’ll make it worth your while.” Bobby Lee offered.

  “Don’t try that Municipal Field, Bobby Lee. They got it sewed up, too.” Fucking great. One more option gone, Bobby Lee thought.

  “What do you suggest?” Bobby Lee asked.

  “I don’t know where you are, and I don’t want to know.” Cyrus stated. “That a-way you know this ain’t no set up. Can you get to Dredgers Key?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “There’s a salt pond on the northern coast, with an inlet from the sea. I’ll pick you up there at first light. I’ll be in a Billistic Center Console with a blue canopy and three Merc motors. Be on the beach with $2,000.”

  “I’ll be there.” Bobby Lee’s hopes leaped. Finally, something was going his way.

  Cyrus ended the call, and handed the phone to Chris, the NCIS agent. “What about my reward?”

  “Excellent job. Nice touch with the $2,000 request.” Chris responded, and started to walk away.

  “What about my reward?” Cyrus voice raised, demanding an answer.

  Chris stopped and turned. “We’ll talk about that when we have Swagart in custody. Now where’s this Billistic Center Console you spoke of?”

  Municipal Field and Naval Air Station, Key West, Florida

  Commander Phillips was not prepared for the reception he received upon touch down as he disembarked the C-130 Coast Guard Hercules. Preparing to descend, he was confronted below with a full Honor Guard in dress whites, the Base Commander, and the Secretary of the Navy. Whiskey, tango, foxtrot! He snapped to attention, and saluted the colors, the base commander, and Secretary Newkirk. They returned his salute, releasing him, and he started down the stairs.

  He strode towards the reception committee, stopped before them, and again snapped to attention. “Sir! Permission to come aboard.” It wasn’t a ship, but a 1000-acre airfield, but it was a command, like a ship. Protocol was protocol.

  The base commander stepped forward, and extended his hand. “Rear Admiral John Blakely, Commander. We heard you were coming, and decided to roll out the welcome mat. The Secretary arrived an hour or so ago, and decided he wanted to personally thank you for the job you did in the Gulf.”

  “Thankyou sir, I’m honored.” Phillips was still out of his comfort zone, but his years of training kicked in. His father had made sure his little Stevie knew how to talk to a superior officer by age four.

  Secretary Newkirk stepped forward to shake his hand, looked at the Commander sideways, and said, “So how did Falcone’s Flying Circus perform, Commander, did you get that cavalry formation right?”

  Phillips smiled remembering Jimmy’s cavalier ideas about formation flying in crop dusters. It seemed a long time ago, but was actually just over a week since their meeting at Bayboro. “We made a few minor adjustments, Mr. Secretary.”

  “The way I hear it, there was much more than a few minor adjustments. I hear it was a masterful culmination of planning and logistics, involving three branches of the armed forces, civilian volunteers, private chemical manufacturers, trucking companies, local governments and officials, and foreign governments. All in one week. Tell me, Phillips. Do you seriously think you’re going to remain a Commander in this man’s Navy after a performance like that?”

  Commander Phillips was speechless.

  “Come, we’re standing around like a bunch of farmers. Let’s get out of the sun.” Secretary Newkirk led the Commander off the field.

  The group ended up in Admiral Blakeley’s spacious office which doubled as a conference, and briefing room. Coffee and pastries were served. The Admiral had invited his senior officers to attend. All were anxious to meet the man who saved Texas and the Gulf from a very bad fate, and a damn Coasty for crying out loud. After pleasantries, the officers had many questions. Admiral Blakeley began.

  “Commander Phillips, the logistics and supply must have been unbelievably complicated, what with securing planes, fuel, mechanics, and pilots all coming in from all points of the compass, day and night. Then there’s the chemicals and transportation. Where did you start?”

  “Planes and pilots, sir. Nothing could happen until we had the equipment and personnel to fly. Our first flight consisted of 32 planes, one of which ditched into the algae. Mechanical failure, our worst fear, and first casualty. We only had enough fuel for two more sorties.”

  A Wing Commander asked, “Commander Phillips, the way you organized the formations is very impressive. Do you fly, sir?”

  “No, I don’t fly. When I graduated the Academy, I elected to join the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard has 210 aircraft scattered from Alaska to Puerto Rico. I elected to sail.” Phillips replied. Eyebrows were raised at the Commander’s choice to join the Coast Guard instead of accepting a commission in the Navy.

  “As for the formation organization and logistics, I had a lot of help. As volunteer service personnel showed up, Lt. Jemison sorted them by specialty, and made assignments: Flight organization, equipment maintenance and service, transportation, fuel and chemicals, housing and food service, medical. The people that showed up knew better than I what skills would be needed, and brought whole units with their equipment. I have a feeling the Secretary had a lot to do with that.” The Commander turned toward Secretary Paul Newkirk.

  Newkirk responded. “Well, we couldn’t just leave you dangling out there, could we. If I can’t control you, I may as well support you.” More chuckles.

  “Why did you choose the Coast Guard, Commander. Hell, I might be working for you now if you had you chosen the Navy.” Admiral Blakeley’s comment brought some laughter from the assembled officers.

  “That’s where I felt I could do the most good for my country, sir. And, if I’m not mistaken, the Coast Guard is part of the United States Navy. I’ve served from Alaska to Puerto Rico. After 9/11, I felt I could serve my country best by guarding our home waters. I even had a tour in the Persian Gulf during the second Iraq war. That’s still our home waters, just a little further out.”

  “And you certainly have, Commander.” Newkirk then addressed the assembled officers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Admiral Blakeley and I would like to spend some
time with Commander Phillips. Please excuse us.”

  The assembled officers rose as one, saluted and left the room. Once alone, the Admiral asked, “What brings you to Key West, Commander?”

  “The algae bloom is whipped, sir. Gone. My staff is still in Galveston overseeing the dismantling of Operation Gulf Storm, and getting the personnel and equipment back where it belongs. I’m here to finish this.” The Commander explained. “The two people most responsible for this disaster are both on the run, and have been cornered here in Key West. Bobby Lee Swagart and Sherrod Simpson. The Bayboro team: Thuy Piseth, Dr. Kate O’Neal, and Jimmy Falcone are all here with NCIS Agents. As of last night, they managed to turn one of Bobby Lee Swagart’s accomplices into setting up a sting on Dredger Key for tomorrow morning at dawn.”

  “All our assets are at your disposal, Commander.” Admiral Blakeley.

  “What brings you to Key West, Mr. Secretary?” Phillips asked.

  “I was on the way to visit you in Galveston when we got word that you were coming here. We diverted, and beat you here by a couple hours.” Paul Newkirk answered. “I told you when we met on the field you could not expect to remain a Commander. I am here to enforce that statement.” The Navy Secretary rose, and walked to the head of the table, Admiral Blakeley joined him, and motioned Commander Phillips to stand before them.

  The Navy Secretary spoke. “Admiral Blakeley, you will have the honor of welcoming our newest Admiral, Vice Admiral Steven Phillips, United States Coast Guard. The official announcement and ceremony will follow. Admiral Phillips, finish this “thing” as you call it, then come to Washington.”

  Blakeley and the Navy Secretary both saluted Admiral Phillips, and shook his hand.

  Just Outside Municipal Field and Naval Air Station, Key West, Florida

  Bobby Lee hung up, and ordered another beer. Ironically, less than one mile away, Admiral Phillips, Admiral Blakeley, and the Navy Secretary had just sat down at the Officer’s club to order their first beer.

  His photo alongside Sherrod’s was plastered all over the TV behind the bar, with scrolling copy indicating they were likely in Key West, and all citizens should be on the lookout for their whereabouts. His appearance was somewhat disguised with a four-day growth of beard, sunglasses, and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. The only saving grace was the people of Key West were so laid back, he could have strolled down the street with a name tag on his chest, and no one would have noticed. Except the police, NCIS, State Troopers, Homeland Security, and TSA swarming the area. That, and the fact the bar would close at 2:30 AM. He was not about to wander the streets until dawn. Besides, he needed to call Sherrod and tell him about 35-foot deep sea fishing boat, that could easily reach Cuba, He stepped outside to make the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Sherrod, this is Bobby Lee. I got us a ride off the Key to Cuba. Dawn tomorrow.”

  “How nice. I’ve found my own ride to Cuba. I too plan to leave at dawn tomorrow.” Sherrod painted a brighter picture than his circumstances warranted. Yes, he did have a boat he couldn’t sail, with a captain trussed up with duct tape with a massive hangover on the divan. His ability to control his captive all the way to Cuba was in doubt. If he shot him, he would not know how to operate the boat, much less navigate open water. And, there’s the little issue of entering Cuban waters with a kidnapped captain, pirated boat, and no onshore contacts.

  “That so?” Bobby Lee was skeptical.

  “Yes, it’s so.” Sherrod replied. How big is your boat, Bobby Lee? Weatherman is calling for six foot seas in the morning.”

  “Thirty five foot, open center console.”

  “Mine is bigger than yours, in all respects.” Sherrod grinned, knowing this would rile Swagart. “Sixty-five foot yacht. Closed helm, out of the weather. Nice spacious cabin with a kitchen and bar below.”

  “I see. Where?” Bobby Lee was intrigued.

  “One of the marinas south of downtown.”

  “Which one? There are dozens.” Bobby Lee was losing patience, but a much larger craft in rough seas and open water was vastly preferable to an open launch.

  “It’ll cost you if you want a ride with me.” Sherrod twisted the knife.

  “How much?”

  “Five million sound about right, Bobby Lee? That’ll still leave you with five million as an incentive to smooth my way into Cuba.”

  Swagart didn’t need to think long about the offer. He was running out of time. They both were. If Sherrod was bullshitting about the yacht, he could always fall back on Cyrus. And, the weather report called for a lot more than the six foot seas predicted earlier in the day. A pretty nasty storm was coming. An open boat in that was suicide. He would either have to take Sherrod’s offer, or wait out the storm somewhere and try later. The storm as cover could help.

  “Alright, Sherrod. We have a new deal.”

  Boatyard, Key West Florida

  The SUV’s left Cyrus’ boatyard under the watchful eyes of the State Police. A Very unhappy Cyrus seated between two NCIS agents in the second vehicle accompanied them. He would not leave their sight until the operation to snag Swagart was over.

  “Where you folks staying?” Beth asked.

  “We don’t have a place to stay. We stepped off a plane at Key West International, and straight into this SUV.” Jimmy replied.

  “No worries, you can stay on base with us. I’m sure Admiral Blakeley would welcome you.”

  Thirty minutes later, they cleared base security, and drove towards the enlisted men and woman’s quarters, and officer’s row.

  “The mess hall is closed, but we can get you something to eat at the officer’s club. Anyone have any luggage?” They had none, and headed towards the base Officer’s Club. Kate had a flashback to the movie Top Gun, and asked Beth, “Anyone in there that looks like Tom Cruise ready to sing You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling to me while all those hansome aviators join in?”

  Beth smiled. “Maybe. It is Saturday night, you know.”

  They ambled over to the club. Everyone dead tired after this past week’s tribulations. Entering, all were pleasantly surprised. The club was laid out like a typical neighborhood sports bar, including servers and bartenders. They cold see the kitchen through a window behind the bar, as orders were placed on the window’s counter for servers to deliver to customers. Some officers were in uniform, some were not.

  “There’s Admiral Blakeley, let me get our billets squared away. Find a table and order some food. I’ll be right back.” Beth headed towards a table with several uniformed officers, as the group settled in to order. NCIS Chris had begged off to submit his report, secure Cyrus in the brig for the night, and complete paperwork. The price of rank. That left the original Bayboro Three, plus Beth.

  A server approached, and took their drink order, handing out menus.

  “Well guys, we’ve come a long way in a week.” Jimmy offered. “Thuy, you were right about everything. You were the spark that lit the fuse. Thank you, man.” Jimmy extended his hand to Thuy.

  Kate seconded his statement. “How did you figure it all out, Thuy? Tying the liquid fertilizer spill last July to the Loop Current, and Karenia brevis. You saved so many lives.”

  “Commander Phillips save lives. Brave pilots save lives. Thuy solve puzzle. I stay in hotel lobby and watch monitors. That all.”

  “Jimmy, you’re such an ass, but you played a major role in mobilizing the response.” Kate reached for his hand, then Thuy’s. They all linked hands around the table.

  A figure interrupted the mood of the table, and spoke. “You folks ready to order?”

  Looking up, they saw Commander Phillips with a pad of paper and pencil in hand, ready to take their meal orders.

  Jimmy was first to react, jumping to his feet. “Admiral! Good to see… He never finished his sentence. Even a Marine could recognize the three stars on Phillips collar, and the three starred gold shoulder boards. “Holy crap. You are an Admiral. I am screwed.”

  Maybe it was
the fatigue, or the stress of these last days and weeks. Kate pushed her chair back, rounded the table, and threw herself at the Admiral, hugging him like a long lost lover, her face buried in his chest and neck. To his credit, Admiral Phillips maintained his balance and composure. After several moments, Kate released him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.