Redemption in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  I filled a mug with coffee, then took a sip and offered the thermos to George, which he quickly declined. Rachel came back out and we sat for a few hours, them talking about where they’d been and me talking a little about my life since moving to the Keys. This was a practice run, they told me. They’d been sailing around the Caribbean and down along the eastern coast of South America for almost a year, preparing for a voyage around the world that they expected to last three years.

  “We want to take our time,” Rachel said. “To see and to feel as much of the world as we can. Especially the quiet places where few people go.”

  When midnight rolled around, they both rose, stretched, and headed inside.

  “You sure you don’t want to sleep?” George said. “The guest cabin is really nice, and the autopilot will alert us if anything comes up. This boat’s been piloting itself more than we have this past year.”

  I thanked them for their offer but told them I’d rather stay out a little longer. I had no doubt that the guest cabin was nice, but I didn’t want to risk anything happening. George told me there was plenty of liquor in the galley if I wanted, then they headed inside and shut the sliding glass door. That left just me, Atticus, and Wally. The dogs lay on either side of me as we cruised over the small rollers of the straits.

  Fifteen minutes after they went inside, I saw an echo on the radar about six miles behind us. Soon after that, I saw the Baia flying through the water at her cruising speed of forty knots. We’d decided that he would wait a while before leaving Cay Sal, just so our two boats could stay as close as possible in case something happened. Kyle stood at the helm and waved towards me as he flew by. I waved back, then nestled back into the cushions.

  I grabbed my sat phone and made a quick call to one of my old friends, Wade Bishop. Wade worked for Mobile Diving and Salvage Unit Two, an expeditionary mobile unit that was homeported in Little Creek, Virginia. They were widely regarded as the experts of underwater salvage. The guys over at MDSU 2 had been vital in many past high-profile salvage operations including TWA 800, the ironclad USS Monitor, and the space shuttles Challenger and Columbia. More recently, they’d played a key role in the preservation and identification of U-3546, and they’d also helped recover and dispose of the biological weapon lodged in the seafloor beside it.

  We talked for a few minutes, catching up a bit, then I told him that I knew where the lost Air Force C-21A wreck was located. He paused for a moment, then asked me how in the hell I’d managed to find it. I told him it was a long story, then sent over the coordinates.

  “You think you could convince them to bring the Grasp to the Bahamas and take a look?” I asked.

  The USNS Grasp was MDSU 2’s 255-foot salvage and rescue ship.

  “We’re off Wilmington right now,” Wade said. “I think I could convince Sprague to head down that way, especially if I mention your name. That guy holds you in high regard.” I was surprised, since I’d only interacted with Commander Sprague a handful of times. “I’ll keep you posted, Logan. Thanks for the tip. You want us to give someone else the credit for this find like the last time?”

  I thought for a second. “Best to abstain from any credit at this time. Or you guys could just take it, I don’t really care. But do me a favor and let me know if you guys find the flight recorder.”

  Flight recorders are oftentimes mistakenly referred to as “black boxes.” In reality, the devices are usually painted bright orange to make them easier to spot following a crash. I doubted that such a classified flight would have even turned it on, especially since Kyle said they tried to kill him, but it was still worth a shot.

  I thanked him for his help, ended the call, and returned to my quiet evening on the deck. Every half hour or so, I’d stand up, stretch, and do a full survey of the horizon using my night vision monocular. It was a nice night out on the water, and I enjoyed the solitude and the quiet of cruising under sail. The moon reflected down over the water, and even with the breeze at my side, I was comfortable in my shorts and long-sleeved tee shirt.

  I dozed off a few times, but never for longer than a couple of minutes. The coffee did its job for the most part. When I’d get really tired, I’d climb up onto the bow and do squats, planks, and full-range sit-ups with the surf spraying against my body. I wanted to do push-ups as well but figured it wouldn’t be the best idea considering the state of my left shoulder.

  At 0230, the cockpit radio crackled to life. Atticus and Wally stirred at the sound and I rose to my feet.

  “Dodging Bullets to Seas the Day,” Kyle said between the static.

  Stepping over to the helm, I grabbed the VHF and held down the talk button.

  “Seas the Day, go ahead,” I said.

  “I’ve got a beat on Drago. Saw an echo half an hour ago and I have visual. He’s cruising northeast at twenty knots.”

  I snatched a notepad and pencil from the dash.

  “What are your coordinates?”

  He gave me a combination of latitudes and longitudes, then said that the trawler was nine miles southeast of his position.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll get right back with you.”

  Setting the radio in its holder, I moved aft and grabbed my satellite phone out of my Camelbak. Clicking through the contacts, I came across Wilson’s name and pressed call. After apologizing to the deputy director for waking him up, I told him that I had a positive location on Drago Kozlov.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone shifting drastically. “Just give me a second.”

  A moment later, I gave him the coordinates along with the other info Kyle had given me.

  “Can you track the trawler’s position and give me updates? Especially if he decides to turn around and head south?” I asked. “I’m on my way to Key West now, and I’ll be ready to go after him then.”

  “Already having my people run the info into the system. We should have confirmation of the target any second.” After a short pause, he added, “Alright, we have it. I’m gonna call the Coast Guard and let them know what’s going on.”

  “No!” I said, more loudly than I meant to. “I mean, I wanna take this guy down myself.”

  Wilson sighed. “They’re big boys, Logan. They can take care of themselves.”

  “I know that, but I’ve already encountered him. I have an advantage.”

  There was a moment’s silence as he thought it over. The truth was, though I’d worked with Coast Guard many times before and knew that they were experts at their jobs, I was a little concerned. Just the previous summer, I’d been surrounded by a Cuban gang on Loggerhead Key while trying to protect an innocent family. The last day on the island, a Coast Guard helicopter had flown in to pick us up, only to be blown to bits before it could land. The look on their faces as I swam aboard to try and save them still burned in my memory.

  “Alright, fine,” Wilson said. “But if he gets away, I’m blaming you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead, and I placed the sat phone beside me. Grabbing the radio, I hailed Kyle and told him that the trawler’s position was being tracked. He acknowledged, then told me that he’d see me at the marina. After placing the radio back down, I grabbed a blanket and sprawled out on the cushion beside Atticus and Wally. If Drago was being tracked, I was going to try and get at least a few hours of much-needed sleep.

  TWENTY

  My eyes opened as a strong gust of fresh sea air blew across my face. I rubbed around my eyes for a few seconds, then looked out over the water. The sky was still dark, but judging by the time, the sun would be making its grand entrance any minute. My hand gravitated to my sat phone, which indicated that I’d received a message from Wilson.

  “Trawler in channel in north Key Largo,” it said. “Will keep you posted.”

  I set the phone back on the cushion, rose to my feet, and looked out in all directions. I’d only managed to get four hours of sleep, but it had been restful and deep n
onetheless. I’d always liked sleeping on the water, to the peaceful rocking of a seagoing vessel. I stepped up onto the bow beside the trampoline and looked out to the west. The Lower and Middle Keys were specks on the horizon, and I expected that given the wind speed, we’d reach Key West in a few hours.

  I moved back down to the cockpit and slowly opened the sliding glass door. As quietly as I could, I tiptoed into the galley and started up another pot of coffee. I had no doubt that I was in for another long day, what with Drago hanging out on my turf. I couldn’t think of any reason as to why he would be there.

  Why would he not cruise back to Cuba? I thought as the boiling water dripped down over the coffee grounds.

  Whatever he was doing there, I resolved to find out as soon as possible.

  Once the coffee was brewed, I refilled the thermos and stepped back outside. Atticus and Wally opened their eyes groggily, but seeing there was nothing exciting going on, they went right back to sleep.

  I sipped the coffee while facing aft and watching one of the most spectacular sunrises I’d ever seen in my life. A jaw-dropping display of vibrant colors, streaks of light, and sparkling reflections across the water. I had nothing to distract me except Mother Nature as we sailed closer and closer to Key West, so I let my mind wander to Kyle, Drago, Carson, and how I was going to tell Ange what I’d been up to the past few days.

  An hour later, George and Rachel came out and started on breakfast. Rachel made waffles that were so good they didn’t need syrup and topped them with slices of banana and mango. After eating, George switched off the autopilot and brought us manually across what little remained of the straits.

  At just after 0900, we cruised around Fort Zachary Taylor at the southwest tip of the island, then past Mallory Square and a Carnival cruise ship tied off at the dock. With the flick of a few switches, George furled the mainsail, started up the cat’s twin fifty-five-hp engines, and motored us into Conch Harbor Marina. He eased the starboard hull against one of the day moorage slips, and I grabbed my bag and hopped off. Atticus said goodbye to his new friend, then jumped onto the dock beside me. Turning around, I prepared for George to throw me the ropes so I could tie off Seas the Day. Instead, he kept the engines running as they both moved against the starboard gunwale.

  “You’re not stopping?” I asked.

  “We’re pretty set on supplies,” George replied. “And we’re both eager to reach Saint Pete. Maybe we’ll see you on the way back.”

  I nodded. “It was good to see you again, George. And it was nice meeting you, Rachel.”

  She reached over the gunwale for a quick hug.

  “Hopefully it’s not a year before we see you again,” George said.

  I grinned. “I’d fly halfway around the world for more of that cooking.”

  “I’m spoiled,” George said as he moved back towards the helm.

  “It was nice meeting you too,” Rachel said.

  I waved as George turned Seas the Day around and motored back out of the harbor. After a short walk towards shore, then across and down an adjoining dock, I spotted the Baia tied off at slip twenty-four. After talking with Kyle for a few minutes, I grabbed a quick shower, changed, then called Wilson for an update. He informed me that the trawler had stopped over for a few hours at an island in the Upper Keys near north Key Largo. Then, at around 0300, the trawler left, heading south. Currently, he said that it was moored just off the coast of Knockemdown Key, on the Florida Bay side. He sent me a satellite image verifying their location and said that the trawler hadn’t moved for a few hours.

  He’s making his way to Key West, I thought.

  He was going to try and remedy his failure in Cay Sal. I assumed that he would opt for a subtler approach the second time around. A poisoned drink. A sharp knife to the neck while we slept. A quick round from a silenced handgun. Then again, he would be pissed off after our first engagement, and I thought it might affect his reasoning, even with his experienced track record. Regardless, we weren’t about to wait around for him to make a move.

  “What island did it stop at?”

  There was a slight pause, and I heard Wilson clicking a few keys on his keyboard.

  “Looks like it’s a privately owned island,” he replied. “Richmond Key. Ever heard of it?”

  My eyes widened slightly at the mention of the name. I didn’t know much about Richmond Key, but I did know that it was located in Card Sound between North Key Largo and the southern mainland of Florida. I also knew that it was privately owned by none other than Carson Richmond. I wasn’t surprised. If deep down I hadn’t believed Kyle, I would probably have never traveled with him to Cay Sal to look for the plane. But hearing Wilson’s words solidified Kyle’s story. Carson Richmond was behind everything. She wanted us dead, and she was a woman accustomed to having things her way.

  After a few more quick exchanges, we ended the call. He informed me that he’d already notified the Coast Guard and that they too were tracking the trawler but had orders to keep their distance and not to engage unless it was absolutely necessary.

  Kyle was sitting on the outside dinette across from me and had been listening in on our conversation. He grabbed my spare Sig from his waistband and inspected the chamber.

  “You ready for round two?” he said, his lips forming a confident grin.

  I nodded, my face resolute. Though it would have been easier to sneak up on the trawler at night, I didn’t want to give Drago that much time. It was clear that Kyle didn’t want that either. I’d been thinking of a plan since Wilson had told me where the trawler was hiding out, and an idea suddenly came to me.

  I moved down into the salon. Atticus was standing over his empty water bowl, so I quickly topped it off along with his food, and his head dropped into each dish, his tail wagging happily. I stepped into the main cabin, rummaged in the closet, and pulled out a faded Miami Marlins ballcap that had been left there by an old girlfriend, along with one of those functional wraparound hats you always see park rangers wearing. Then I grabbed a long-sleeved tee for Kyle, and two thin windbreakers.

  I stepped back up into the cockpit and set the clothes beside Kyle.

  “This being your first time in the Keys,” I said, “I think it’s high time I showed you a few of the sights. How are you on a kayak?”

  I made a quick phone call to a boat rental shop, then we prepped our gear. I walked Atticus over to Gus at the marina office and he agreed to watch over him for the afternoon. When I made it back to the Baia, I climbed aboard and finished getting my gear ready.

  “Taking off again, huh?” a voice I recognized as Jack’s said from the dock.

  Turning around, I saw him standing just a few feet from the Baia’s stern. He was wearing board shorts and a cutoff tee shirt and had the keys to his Wrangler in his left hand. I stepped down past the transom, then over to the dock beside him.

  “You alright?” he said. “Your face looks a little more purple than it was before you left.”

  I guess the scar from being slugged across the face by the Russian Devil was a little obvious.

  “Fine,” I said.

  After a short moment of silence, he said, “So, you’re still not gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  “We ran into trouble in Cay Sal.”

  Jack shook his head. “Wish I had a quarter for every time I heard that.”

  “No, not the usual trouble.” I moved in closer and lowered my voice. Jack was one of my best and oldest friends; I owed him an explanation. “We ran into a small group of trained killers who had us as their marks.”

  “Do you know why they were after you?”

  I nodded. “Look, I wanted to tell you before. It’s just very complicated. But basically, they were after Kyle. Let’s just say that years ago, he managed to piss off people on both sides of the law.”

  “Did you kill them? The guys that were after you.”

  “At least two escaped. They’re just north of Knockemdown Key, and we’re going after them in a few ho
urs.”

  He paused a moment and glanced down at his keys. It looked like he had something he wanted to tell me but was debating whether or not to.

  “You told Ange any of this?” he finally said.

  I sighed. “I don’t want her to worry. And I don’t want you guys involved.”

  “Well, that’s too damn bad,” he fired back. “I’m your best friend, bro. Besides, it’s not like this is the first time we’ve been in dangerous situations together.”

  I smiled, then relented and gave him a quick rundown of the plan.

  “Alright,” he said with a grin. “Keep me updated. I’ll be close by on the Calypso and I’ll have my Glock ready.”

  I patted him on the shoulder and thanked him, then he continued down the dock towards the parking lot.

  TWENTY-ONE

  At 1300, I parked my black Tacoma 4x4 at the northern tip of Summerland Key, where Niles Road dead-ends right at the water. There’s a small boat launch there, and there was a guy standing beside an old red pickup with a trailer hauling a handful of kayaks hitched to it. The side of the truck had the words Mike’s Coastal Adventures in white faded letters across the passenger-side door. The guy standing beside the trailer looked like he was in his late forties, with tanned skin, a decent-sized gut, and curly brown hair.

  “You Logan?” he said when I stepped out of the Tacoma.

  His accent made me assume that he was originally from up north, way up north.

  He was Mike, the guy I’d spoken with on the phone, and he already had our kayaks unloaded and on the beach with their front ends touching the clear water. We read over a few papers and signed the waivers, then I paid a deposit for each boat that I wasn’t confident I’d be getting back. At the line asking how long we’d be out, I checked four hours.

  He glanced over at the extended bed of my Tacoma. “You want me to meet you guys back here when you’re done?”

  I shook my head. “We’ll take them back.”