by Matthew Rief
If he heard me, he didn’t show it. After a few more seconds of silence, he turned to look at me, his eyes still narrowed and his brow furrowed. He quickly brought the drone back up to the surface, washed it down, then stowed it back in the hardcase. As he carried it forward, he stopped right beside me.
“I need to use your sat phone,” he said.
I motioned towards where it sat on the dashboard in the cockpit. Grabbing it, he disappeared through the salon door.
EIGHTEEN
Seas the Day pulled slowly along the starboard side of the Baia fifteen minutes later. She was a beautiful forty-four-foot Lagoon with sleek white hulls, big windows that wrapped all the way around the galley and cockpit, and a large trampoline up forward. She looked new and immaculately taken care of, which didn’t surprise me. The Baia had been in near-perfect condition when I’d purchased her, even though she had been two years old at the time and he’d put over a thousand hours on the engines.
“Ahoy, Captain Dodge,” George said. He was standing against the thin port railing.
George was in his early sixties. He was average height, had a dark tan, and his hair was all salt and no pepper. Clearly taking to retired life well, he looked to have lost some weight since I’d last seen him. He was wearing a pair of white linen shorts and a blue polo shirt, and he was barefoot.
“Ahoy, Captain Shepherd,” I replied, playing old sailor with him. “When you said your name, my jaw hit the deck so hard I think it made a dent.”
He laughed and tossed me a line, which I secured around the starboard stern cleat.
“Well, my reaction was probably about the same when I heard all of the commotion, then saw my old boat through the lenses of my binoculars. Just ask my wife.”
He tossed me a second line, which I secured to the bow. We each tossed over a few white fenders so our hulls wouldn’t slam against each other. A petite Asian woman who looked like she was in her early fifties stepped out from the open sliding glass door. She was wearing a loose purple sundress.
“He looked like he’d just seen a ghost,” the woman said.
“Logan, this is my wife, Rachel,” George said. “Rachel, this is Logan Dodge.”
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
“Likewise,” she replied. “But just Rachel is fine. Where’s the other guy? We saw two of you.”
“He’s not feeling well,” I lied. “I think he passed out on the couch.”
George grabbed a red-and-black duffel bag from the deck beside him, then stepped down to where Seas the Day’s port swim steps were floating just a few feet from the Baia’s swim platform.
“Request permission to come aboard,” he said.
I stepped down and held out my right hand. “Come on over.”
In just a few seconds he had me seated beside the dinette and was riffling around in his duffel bag. At his direction, I loosened the belt and pulled off the towel, allowing him to see the wound. He quickly sanitized his hands, slid both into latex gloves, then softly removed the gauze. Grabbing a flashlight, he pulled part of the sliced wetsuit away and examined it further.
“Wow. That’s pretty deep,” George said. “You’re lucky that you were wearing a wetsuit. The pressure of the neoprene prevented excessive bleeding.” He set the flashlight down on the dinette, then grabbed a needle and thread. “Alright, go ahead and pull this down to your waist.”
Reaching behind me, I ripped the Velcro at the base of my neck apart then pulled the zipper down. I winced slightly as I pulled the neoprene away and down to my waist, revealing my bare chest, which was covered in a thin layer of blood. George went right into doctor mode, first disinfecting the wound, then stitching me up with the efficient and perfect movements of someone who’d done it thousands of times in his life.
“You’re lucky that you weren’t cut another inch deeper,” he said. He snipped the end of the thread, then placed the needle into a plastic hazardous waste disposal compartment in the bag, followed by the gauze and then both of his gloves. “Alright, that should do ya. I would recommend that you avoid any strenuous activities for at least a week or two, but judging by what I’ve read about you, I’m sure you wouldn’t listen.”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows. “What you’ve read?”
He motioned towards his catamaran. “We’ve got a laptop on board, and I read the Keynoter whenever I’m feeling homesick. You’ve been a busy guy this past year, and I’m willing to bet that Harper Ridley and the other writers haven’t figured out everything you’ve done.”
I laughed and thought briefly about my last year in the Keys. It had been a busy year. In fact, I thought about what day it was and realized that the following day would mark exactly one year since I’d moved to Key West.
“So are you gonna tell us what happened or what?” Rachel said.
She was still standing at the stern of Seas the Day, watching everything that we were doing.
George grinned. “My wife is the direct one out of the two of us. Though I’m curious as well, considering our peaceful night on the water suddenly turned into a war zone.”
I briefly examined the skillful work he’d done stitching up my shoulder, then slid off the seat and rose to my feet.
“We were diving when that trawler cruised up on us,” I said. “We’d seen it since yesterday evening and had grown suspicious. My guess is they were after the Baia. Fortunately, we were both armed and managed to fend them off.”
I was glad that the bodies had drifted far enough south that they could no longer be seen. Dead, bloodied bodies in the water aren’t exactly a nice sight to look at.
“How many more were still onboard?” George asked after thinking for a moment.
“I think just two,” I replied. “Though I shot one of them, so I doubt they’ll be back here anytime soon.”
I slid my wetsuit the rest of the way off, then stepped down onto the swim platform and rinsed off using the freshwater hose. Once I had the blood washed away, I toweled off, then grabbed my tee shirt from the corner of the sunbed and threw it on.
“Do you know who they are?” Rachel asked.
I shrugged. “Local criminals is my guess. These waters aren’t exactly the safest around.” After a few second’s pause, I added, “Did you guys call the Coast Guard?” I assumed that they probably had as soon as they’d heard the gunshots.
“I was about to,” George said. “Then I grabbed my binoculars and recognized my old boat. Then I recognized you as well.”
Part of me felt immensely relieved. The last thing I wanted was for a Bahamian Coast Guard patrol to engage a potential threat without knowing what they were getting themselves into.
“What brought you both to these waters anyway?” I asked.
“We’re on our way to Saint Pete,” he said. “Our daughter-in-law is due in the next few days and we don’t want to miss it. We were fifty-fifty whether we were going to just fly out from Nassau, though now it appears that may have been the smarter course of action.” He glanced at his wife, then turned back to me and added, “You guys hungry? Rachel made stew and it’s incredible.”
I could actually feel my mouth water and hear my stomach grumble. We hadn’t eaten since lunch, and it’d been a busy couple of hours.
“That sounds great, thank you,” I said. “Let me check on my friend and see if he wants some.”
George nodded, grabbed his duffel and headed back over to his boat.
“I’ll warm it up,” Rachel said. “It might make your friend feel better.”
Opening the salon door, I stepped down and saw Kyle seated with one foot propped up on the table. He was staring off into space with my sat phone resting beside him.
“You want some food?” I said, and he just shook his head. I noticed my sat phone beside his foot and added, “Who’d you call anyway?”
“Murph,” he said flatly.
My eyes narrowed with interest.
“You serious? He still work for the NSA?”
&nbs
p; “Not anymore. He left a few years ago. Does mainly freelance stuff now, and he recently started his own tech company.”
Elliot Murphy was a tech wizard whom I’d only met a few times during my time in the SEALs. He’d designed, created, and patented many of the high-tech gadgets we utilized and was also one of the best hackers in the world.
“I haven’t spoken to him in years. But you’ve kept in touch?”
He nodded. “He’s the one who helped me find you. He’s also the reason I’m not behind bars right now. Helped me make it out of Cuba with a new passport and IDs.”
I paused a moment. “You’re pretty good at disappearing,” I finally said. “I hadn’t even noticed you’d left when their cat approached.”
“I’ve been a living ghost for ten years, Logan,” he said. “It comes naturally now. So what exactly is the plan with Drago? He’s still gonna come for us.”
“We track him down and we kill him. Simple as that.”
“And then what?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Kyle. We go back to living our lives.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say.”
“What do you wanna do? You said that the data on that plane was the only way we could prove your innocence and prove who the real guilty parties are.”
He paused a moment, then said, “I didn’t say that was the only way, I said it was the best way.”
Just then, Atticus came trotting down the stairs behind me. He slid past me and plopped down at my feet.
“So what did you guys talk about?” I said.
Kyle took in a deep breath, then let it out.
“We talked about plan B,” he said. “Since the original plan is shattered to pieces at the bottom of the ocean, we talked about another way to bring them down.” When I just looked back at Kyle, confused, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a normal flash drive. “This is called the Plague. It’s Murph’s newest invention, and it’s the fastest and most efficient hacker in the world.”
I raised my eyebrows, and he went on to explain how that little flash drive could hack and make copies of some of the most protected computers in the world.
I thought over his words for a few seconds.
“You’re going to go after her, aren’t you?” I said.
“I told you, Logan, I’m finishing this. One way or another. I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of running. I’m sick of me and my family living like fugitives. It’s time to end this.”
NINETEEN
After discussing possible plans of action going forward with Kyle, we decided to head back to the Keys. The Baia was running low on fuel, and with the electronics destroyed, there was no reason for us to stay in Cay Sal and attempt to further search the plane. I didn’t like the idea of George and Rachel sailing across the Florida Straits by themselves with Drago on the loose, so I requested to join them on their crossing. They agreed over a quick bowl of some of the best beef stew I’d ever had, then I headed back over to the Baia to grab a few things.
“Bring this over to your friend,” Rachel said, handing me a sealed plastic container full of stew. “If he’s anywhere near as hungry as you were, he’s going to appreciate it.”
I thanked her, then climbed back over to the Baia and met Kyle in the salon. After setting the stew on the counter in the galley, I moved forward into the main cabin, grabbed my black Camelback and filled it with two extra mags for my Sig, my night vision monocular, my satellite phone, and a long-sleeved tee shirt. Throwing it over my right shoulder, I stepped back into the salon.
“Keep in touch via the VHF,” I said.
“See you back in Key West,” he replied.
I nodded, then motioned towards the container of stew. “That’s for you, by the way.” Turning aft, I added, “Keys are on the dash.”
“Thanks, Logan,” he said when my foot hit the first step. I tilted my head to look back at him and saw his eyes staring into mine. “Thanks for doing all of this.”
It caught me slightly off guard. Kyle had never been the sentimental, appreciative type. But I guess both of us coming inches from death had given him a little perspective on the present situation. My ears still rang a little from the explosion that had almost killed us.
“I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission,” I said, quoting a small portion of the Navy SEALs creed. “You’re welcome.”
He gave a slight nod, then I turned and headed up topside. Atticus jumped to his feet when he saw me and hopped up onto the sunbed. He seemed to really enjoy all of the stuff going on. Blazing guns, explosions, and a bleeding owner didn’t seem to faze him very much.
“You’re the perfect dog for me,” I said as I scratched under his chin. “You need to stay here.”
I stepped down onto the swim platform.
“How’s he with small dogs?” George asked. He was standing right across from me beside his boat’s helm.
“Never had any problems,” I replied.
“Well, he’s welcome to come with us. Wally likes company.”
I turned back to look at Atticus, who was staring back at me, his head cocked sideways.
“You want to stay here or come with me?” I pointed at the Baia, then over at Seas the Day. I’m not sure how dogs understand, but I think it has just as much to do with body language as it does verbal communication. His ears rose slightly and he jumped down onto the deck beside me, his tail wagging against the transom.
“I think that’s a yes,” I said.
Bending down, I wrapped my arms around his legs, lifted him up and extended his body towards Seas the Day. I was planning to just set him down on the port swim steps, but George came down and grabbed him. It amazed me how limber, strong, and well balanced he was, but I guess living on the water does that to you. I remembered a trip I’d taken Down Under for a training exercise with the Aussies back when I was in the Navy. As we pulled into Sydney harbor, we saw handfuls of sailboats being piloted by leather-skinned men in their seventies who moved like they hadn’t aged in decades. You’re kept busy at sea, handling lines, rigging sails, charting courses, and performing maintenance on everything from the engines to the washing machine. Seas the Day was only a year old, but even new boats have issues from time to time.
Once Atticus was aboard, I jumped over and climbed up into the cockpit. Setting my bag on a nearby bench, I turned and saw that Kyle had popped up onto the deck. He quickly untied the forward and aft lines and cast them over to me. I gave a quick wave, then he vanished back down into the salon. He was as untrusting as they came, but given his situation, it made sense for him to try and maintain a low profile.
“Your friend looks kind of familiar,” George said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “he looks like Allen Iverson, but with about forty pounds of muscle packed on.”
It hadn’t been a sudden, quick-witted response. Back in the SEALs, Kyle had looked so much like the dominating NBA point guard that his nickname had been AI.
“That must be it,” George said with a smile. “I saw Iverson play at the 2001 All-Star game in D.C. He made the impossible look easy that night.”
I felt a surge of envy. That had been one of the best games ever played, and I’d only been able to watch the highlights on a tiny old television with bad reception.
Wally came out from the sliding glass door right at Rachel’s heels. The Boston terrier’s eyes grew wide upon seeing Atticus, and the two moved in close and inspected each other. After a few seconds, Wally turned back inside and Atticus followed.
“I guess they’re friends now,” Rachel said.
“You Sox fans?” I said.
I thought it was kind of clever that they’d named their Boston terrier after the Red Sox mascot.
Rachel smiled. “For life. Thank God for the ’04 season.”
I nodded. To this day, it had been one of the most incredible things I’d ever seen on television. George went on to explain how Rachel was from Ne
w England and they’d met there in college.
George and Rachel went to work in a smooth symphony of orchestrated movements, bringing the mainsail with the halyard, positioning the boom, and tightening the sheet in place. The cat had top-of-the-line features, making the process of setting sail an easy one with mechanical winches to do most of the work. I offered my help, but in less than thirty seconds, they had the main full of wind and the hulls cutting through the water. We had nine knots of wind blowing up from the southeast, so they put us on a broad reach as we set our course for Key West.
Seas the Day moved through the water like a dream, and I decided right then and there that if I ever decided to purchase a sailboat, it would be a Lagoon catamaran. At Rachel’s insistence, I helped myself to another bowl of stew from the crockpot, then sat down on one of the cushioned benches at the stern. As I ate, George put our destination into the cockpit monitor and switched on the autopilot.
“Should make Key West by nine a.m.,” he said. “You wanna get some sleep?”
I looked out over the dark horizon. Drago and his trawler were still somewhere out there. I felt very protective of George and his wife. After all, the crossing wouldn’t have been nearly as dangerous had it not been for Kyle and me.
“I think I’ll stay up a while longer,” I replied. “I saw your coffeemaker in the galley. You mind if I brew a pot?”
“Stay put and eat,” Rachel said from inside. “I’ll bring it out to you. How do you like it?”
I told her with cream and sugar, then thanked her and took a few more bites of stew. It really was some of the best I’d ever had, with tender marinated beef, soft carrots, potatoes, and onions all covered in delicious gooey flavor. When I finished, Rachel stepped out holding a thermos and mug. Exchanging them for my bowl and spoon, she headed back into the salon, then forward into the galley.
“Amazing woman you’ve got there,” I said.
George smiled, then sat down a few feet away from me.
“Yes, she is,” he said. “Why she settled for me remains one of the greatest mysteries of life.”