“Need some help?” Justine asked.
Surprised to see her, I took my hands off my hips and picked up the rope again, this time determined to lift the boat by myself. I got no further than I had on my first attempt. Without a word she came to my aid and together we were able to lift it out of the water. To my surprise, when the kayak reached the fulcrum point and was halfway onto the dock, I felt myself flailing in the air.
I landed in the water and looked up at Justine, wondering what had happened. It didn’t take a special agent to see from the look on her face that she was still mad.
“Maybe you need to cool off and get some perspective,” she said.
Before I could figure out what she was doing, she grabbed her board and in a move that defied gravity, hopped down to the center-console with it under her arm. Without looking at me, she released the lines. I was only feet away when the engine started and she pulled away from the dock. Seconds later, the boat was up on plane heading for the mainland.
Treading water, I watched until the tiny speck was gone, knowing I had blown it—again. I swam to the ladder and climbed onto the dock. The only boat left was the kayak. I reviewed my options: sit and wait until Becky and Ray got back, or take things into my own hands.
Fifteen minutes later, I had changed clothes and placed my gun and phone into a large Ziploc baggie. I walked back to the dock, hoping to see Becky and Ray coming to save me. Giving up on that, I stashed the baggie in one of the semi-watertight compartments, pushed the kayak back into the water, and maneuvered it to the ladder, where I was glad there were no spectators as I unceremoniously worked my butt into the cockpit.
Sitting this low, the mainland was barely visible. It was just a line on the water, so I decided to use the Turkey Point power plant’s chimneys for navigation. Steering to the north of them, I started out. Fortunately, the wind was at my back, and although it made it hotter, the plastic shell was moving well.
Slowly I channeled my anger and started using my core. The kayak began to pick up speed and soon I was able to distinguish the landmarks of Bayfront Park. Adjusting course, I coasted to the dock, tired but proud. The feeling of accomplishing something faded fast when I saw Martinez standing over my boat and glaring at me.
“Suspending you wouldn’t be out of the question.”
I put my head down and hauled the kayak onto the dock. I didn’t need him to point out the counts against me.
“It’s a good thing that lady friend of yours works for Miami-Dade. I could probably fake the insurance if something happened. But what the hell are you doing? You’re just adding to the list.”
An electronic sound came from the kayak. I looked up at Martinez, who nodded, and I retrieved my phone from the compartment. The screen showed no caller ID. Any unknown caller would be better than the man standing in front of me so I answered.
“This Hunter?”
I recognized the voice. “Yeah.”
“Johnny Wells here. You know that boat you asked me to keep a lookout for?”
“Yeah, the Big Bang.” The volume was up and Martinez had moved closer, clearly able to hear and interested. As mad as he was, there was still some glory in it for him if I could solve the case. He mouthed for me to put the call on speaker.
“She pulled into a marina at Key Biscayne about an hour ago. Got word she’s heading to the Bahamas in the morning.”
I had mentioned to him the case I was working on, thinking they might make a run for it. “Thanks, man, what marina?”
“The one by Crandon Park.”
I thanked him again and disconnected. Martinez backed away a few feet. He looked like he was analyzing what he thought he’d heard. I decided to explain. Watching his eyes, I could see the calculations in his head. After a long pause, he made his decision.
“Better check it out,” he said, walking away as if nothing had happened. He was clearly staying on the side of the fence where he would get credit if things worked out and dodge responsibility if they didn’t. I went to the center-console and saw the keys in the ignition. Silently thanking Justine for at least saving me that embarrassment, I untied the lines, hopped down to the deck, and started the engine. Popping into reverse a little too fast, I grazed the rub rail on a piling, but there was no way I was stopping to check it now.
Idling out of the channel, I worked the chart plotter with one eye and watched for boat traffic with the other. It was late afternoon and there was a steady stream of boats coming back into Bayfront Park. Thankfully, most gave the Park Service boat a wide berth. Whether it was my erratic steering or the light rail and logo, I didn’t care.
I found the marina on the plotter, moved the cursor over it, and pressed the GOTO button. A solid red line appeared, and once I was past the last marker, I changed course and pushed down on the throttle. The marina was on the bay side of the island, and I followed the barrier islands until I was past Sands Key and the imaginary boundary of the park. Open water lay in front of me as I cruised toward the vague outline of land that the chart plotter said was Key Biscayne.
The wind had strengthened since my kayak run and now, running right into its teeth, I was taking spray with every third or fourth wave. The center-console was more of a bay boat, with a lower freeboard and little rise on the hull. I tried to adjust the speed and the trim, without much benefit. All I could do was duck down behind the console every time the bow slammed into a wave. With nothing to do except steer, my thoughts drifted to Justine, and with every wave that slammed against the hull, I hoped to pay a little penance for being an ass. I ran as hard as the boat was able. Staying dry was not important against the chance of losing the Big Bang. I chose the hard way, and despite my efforts, I arrived at the marina half an hour later soaked.
The marina was far smaller than I’d expected and I scanned the slips looking for the Big Bang. I couldn’t spot her on my first pass and moved the boat closer for a better look. This time I cruised from pier to pier. The boat didn’t magically appear. I idled over and docked by the fuel pumps near a building that looked like an office. Hogging both fuel hoses in front of me was the ICE Interceptor. I went to the boat and called out, but there was no answer. The attendant looked angry that the government was hogging his dock and pointed me in the direction of the office.
The air-conditioning hit me in the face when I entered. My wet uniform clung to my skin and in seconds, I was shivering. Johnny stood at the counter talking to a woman who was clearly uncomfortable with his uniform and questions. Seeing me only added to her discomfort.
“Hey, man. Thanks for the tip on the boat, but she’s gone,” I said. We moved out of earshot.
“We got some intel out of one of the boys on the shrimp boat that a load was coming ashore on the south end of the Key tonight. Pulled in for gas and saw her sitting here fueling up.”
“Appreciate it. Any idea where she headed?”
“Pretty sure they hauled ass,” the woman behind the counter had heard us anyway. “Word went out from the manager at the marina on South Beach that she had left port. He knew it was a crime scene and put a BOLO out on channel sixteen. Probably covering his butt for letting her slide out of there.”
I said goodbye to Johnny and thanked the woman behind the counter. He followed me out the door.
“Got radar on that dinghy of yours?”
“Nope.”
“We have a few hours before the rendezvous is scheduled to take place. I’m thinking the weather’s a little snotty to be cruising around the Gulf Stream in that,” he said, looking over at my boat, which was dwarfed by his cruiser.
“You think you can help me out?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t have caught those smugglers if it weren’t for you. We’ll give it a few hours.” He climbed aboard the cruiser. “I’ll check the radar. Shouldn’t be much action. In this kind of weather anyone out there is doing something they shouldn’t be doing.”
“Great. I’ll see if I can get a slip for my boat and I’ll be right over.”
“Can I get a fill and a slip?” I asked the attendant.
He gave me a look that said he would be happy to get his dock back.
I hopped aboard and opened the gas cap with the two-pronged tool on the key chain. While the boat filled, I took my phone and gun from the console. I checked the screen and saw two messages from Justine. One had a smiley face, and the other asked me to call. I guessed she had either felt my pain on the paddle to the headquarters building and then the ride out here, or she had just cooled down.
The engines on the cruiser started and I saw Johnny look in my direction. My aching shoulders reminded me what Justine had done—she would have to wait. The autofill release went off with a loud click and I saw a splash of gas pop out of the tank. The attendant took the pump handle and handed me a paper towel to wipe the spilled gas off the hull. With a scowl he pointed at a slip across the way. I held a finger in the air, telling Johnny that I would just be a minute, and tossed the dock lines back to the attendant, catching a look that said he was happy to see me go. Probably Johnny too. I was pretty sure that government accounts didn’t tip, and between the two of us, we were taking up the whole dock.
With the eyes of the ICE crew on me, I slid into the slip with only a light touch on one of the pilings. Satisfied, I tied off the boat and went to the Interceptor.
“I think we’ve got her on radar,” Johnny said when I climbed aboard.
23
Incredible was the only word that came to mind as the Interceptor 39’s deep V hull cut through the waves. The seaward side of the barrier islands was rougher than the protected passage I had taken, and yet the cockpit remained dry. I stood alongside Johnny, who was at the helm, steering with a light touch. To his right was another ICE agent working the electronics. The four three-hundred-horsepower engines hanging on the transom had the boat flying, skipping over the crests of the white-capped waves instead of smashing through them as my single two-hundred-fifty-horsepower engine did. After the beating I had just taken, this was luxurious.
“Contact five miles. Course one hundred eighty degrees,” the agent yelled over the whine of the engines.
Johnny corrected course and added even more power now that the waves were at a forty-five-degree angle to the boat instead of coming straight at us. I glanced at the electronics and saw we were cruising at forty-eight knots. I guessed the boat could do sixty in calm seas. The radar screen showed several blips along the rings. We were fast approaching one of the smaller ones.
“That’s probably her right there,” Johnny said, and pointed to the blip. “Those bigger ones are tankers out in the Gulf Stream.”
Just as he said it, I looked up and the Big Bang came into view. Although she was fast for a trawler, with a maximum speed of close to forty knots according to her specs, whoever was running her was being conservative. They seemed oblivious to our approach and within a few minutes, we were alongside.
Four faces stared to port and I guessed I had hit the jackpot. Brenda, Holly, and Herb were lined up against the gunwales looking at us. I could see Gordy at the helm above them. Brenda’s eyes met mine and I could see the panic in her eyes.
There was every indication that she had the most to gain by taking the boat. She had been capable of hatching the plot but needed a coconspirator. Gordy was the man for the job. I had done my homework and found there were no liens on the boat. The flyer at the brokerage office had a sales price of $1.8 million dollars. Between the explosives and with the insurance policy I suspected they had purchased for it, getting rid of the boat was a clear path to her divorce with a pot of gold at the end. If Gabe was blown up along with the boat, the rainbow would be brighter and the pot of gold bigger. There really was no worst-case scenario for her until Abbey figured out that the zincs were explosives. In my mind, I saw Abbey surface behind the boat and confront Brenda, who could easily have grabbed her air hose and hit the purge button on the regulator. With all the boat traffic in the marina, there was no telling who had run her over, but she was already dead when they did.
Now that body had been found, they were headed to the Bahamas. Their plan was likely to scuttle the boat there, under the assumption the Bahamian investigative process might be laxer, and if that failed they could battle the extradition process.
Someone yelling orders from the yacht brought me back to the present. I looked over at the bridge and the faces were gone. The boat was turning around, and I tried to figure out what they were up to. Before I could ask, Johnny picked up the microphone and flipped a switch on the cluttered dashboard.
“Vessel on our port side, heave to and go to channel nineteen, please.” He set the microphone down and adjusted our speed and course to match the yacht’s. “I don’t know what game they’re playing, but we need to end this. I have an appointment with some smugglers in an hour.”
He said something to the other man, who reached into the console and came back with what looked like a pistol-grip assault rifle, but with a wider barrel. He loaded a canister into the chamber and nodded to Johnny. I knew how they were going to subdue them but not what the plan was after that.
The radio remained silent. The Interceptor continued to shadow the yacht. A minute later Johnny picked up the microphone again.
“Vessel on my port side. This is Immigration and Customs Enforcement. We are prepared to use force and board you if there is no response. Please go to channel nineteen.”
The radio crackled. “This is the Big Bang. What can we do for you, sir?” It sounded like Gordy.
“Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”
“Roger that, we were heading out and decided the weather was too bad to make a crossing. Can we handle this back at the dock?”
His plea fell on deaf ears. Johnny nodded to the agent beside him, who raised the tear gas gun and fired the canister. It landed with a clunk. A few seconds later, we could see the smoke drifting out of the open enclosure. The boat wallowed in the waves, coming beam to the seas, and all four aboard appeared on deck.
“She’s all yours,” Johnny said, easing the Interceptor alongside.
Two of the agents dropped fenders over the side and, using grappling hooks, pulled the boats together. With both boats now beam to the seas, they rolled uncomfortably with each wave. The sound of fiberglass scraping together gave the situation a sense of urgency. Despite the fenders, the hulls met in each trough.
“You gotta go now,” Johnny said with uncommon urgency. He was having a hard time working the throttles and wheels to keep the boats from damaging each other.
“Thanks,” I called out as I moved to the gunwale. The boats were rocking badly enough that I had to wait for them to hit the crest of the same wave. When they were close to level, I hopped across. Landing on the deck, I found myself staring at four worried faces. I had no plan, but at least for the next few seconds, I had the threat of the Interceptor and ICE agents at my back. I pulled my gun just as the ICE agents released the boats. My focus stayed on the foursome, while they watched my backup pull away. I heard the whine of the engines and knew Johnny and his crew had left.
I was on my own now. Glancing at the faces in front of me, I saw the defeated looks. Whatever fight they’d had was gone—at least for now.
The boat wallowed in a trough, throwing me off balance. Recovering, I ordered Gordy back to the helm and the other three into the salon. My previous search had yielded no weapons, which made me a little more comfortable leaving them inside. Following Gordy up the ladder to the bridge, I took the seat next to him and watched as he increased power and pulled the boat back on course.
“Where are we headed?” he asked.
“Back to the marina,” I said, holding the gun loosely on my thigh, wanting to keep the threat visible. It took him a minute to cross the cresting waves as he made the turn. We were out of sight of land, but glancing over a
t the chart plotter, I could see we were on course.
“What’s going to happen to me?” Gordy asked.
I let that hang for a minute, trying to figure out how to use his position to my advantage. He was the only one not related to Abbey and might turn on the others. “Let’s see how well you cooperate.”
“Fair enough. You know it was all Brenda’s plan.”
Of course it was, except she was half-pickled most of the time and would have needed someone with some brainpower to handle the nuts and bolts. Herb and Holly, as accomplices, stood to make enough money to pay off their mortgage and have a fairly decent retirement. Gordy, as Brenda’s confidant, and whatever else he was to her, was likely to gain a lot more.
I nodded, wanting to get him on my side at least until the Big Bang was back in her slip. Just in case he had any ideas, I watched him carefully and studied the controls. After I was confident I could tell if we were off course, I left him and went below to check on the others.
Their heads were close enough together that I could have cracked them like eggs. When the door opened they jerked away from each other. I had clearly interrupted some kind of planning session.
“We’ll be back at the marina soon.” Fisher Island was just coming into view on the port side. “Miami-Dade will meet us and sort this out then.”
“But we haven’t done anything,” Herb said, moving closer to Holly.
I swear he almost said “yet.” Holly was probably the most innocent one in the group. I looked at them again and noticed a bottle on the deck by Brenda’s feet. She flinched when I moved toward her to lean over and pick it up. The last thing I needed was another case of the Brenda Braves. “Let’s hold off on this until we clear this up.”
Backwater Bay (Kurt Hunter Mysteries Book 1) Page 15