by Matthew Rief
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We spent the rest of the afternoon on the Baia, formulating a plan to dive down and explore the location given in the coordinates. At around four, a thick gray curtain of clouds spread over the islands, and it rained heavily for about forty-five minutes. We spent that time in the salon, sitting on the white couch and looking over charts, maps, pictures and doing a few internet searches.
After plugging the coordinates into the boat’s GPS, we found that the location was about thirteen miles south of Islamorada. Using the depth charts, we were able to get a rough idea of how deep the water was.
“Jack was right,” Ange said, staring down at the chart resting in front of her. “The water’s over three hundred feet deep out there. It’s five miles beyond the reef line.”
Over three hundred feet? I glanced over to verify it myself. The deepest I’d ever dived was 250, and that was pushing it. I wasn’t a deep wreck diver or a commercial diver by trade, just a former Navy SEAL who’d used diving as a means to stealthily approach unsuspecting enemies for years. I enjoyed diving the reefs, catching lobster, spearfishing and taking in the scenery, but I rarely dove below a hundred feet.
“Fortunately, I have this,” I said, reaching for a plastic hard case stowed under the couch we were sitting on. Since the table was covered with charts, books and the laptop, I set it on my lap and unclasped the hefty plastic hinges. Inside was a commercial-grade underwater drone, the same one I’d used with Samantha Flores to explore and discover the lost Aztec gold, which had been swallowed by the ocean floor at a localized tectonic fault zone and was only accessible through a long and narrow cave.
Sam, my ex-girlfriend, had been on a research expedition for Florida State University, where she was a professor of marine geology. She’d brought the drone with her, and after we’d found the gold, she’d purchased a new one and given me her old one. I’d bought an extended leash for it, giving it a six-hundred-foot range, so if the U-boat proved to be too deep for diving, the drone would be a useful alternative.
The entire time we researched, I thought about the drug smugglers who’d murdered my dad and were now after us. Every morsel of my being wanted to track them down and take them out, but I knew that the best way to get revenge would be to take away the very thing they wanted most. My dad had died trying to protect something, and I knew I had to find it and protect it at all costs.
“It can’t just be about the sub, though,” I said, thinking everything over. “These pirates aren’t after a U-boat. To them it’s just a hunk of rusty old metal. No, these guys are looking for something else.”
“Maybe they know about the biological weapon. I mean, why else would your dad give you these coordinates?”
I thought it over a moment. “I don’t know. But tomorrow, we’re gonna find some answers.”
It was after nine when we decided to call it a night, stowed all of our research and locked up the Baia. As we moved down towards the foot of the dock, I marveled at how drastically the weather had shifted. A sky that only a few hours earlier had been littered with clouds was now as clear as glass, revealing a sparkly swarm of distant stars.
The air was still warm, and though there was a nice breeze coming off the ocean, the evening summer air was humid. We rolled down the windows and cruised along backstreets, making the five-minute drive back to my house. There weren’t a lot of people walking around, just a few straggling tourists, so for the most part, the drive was quiet and the streets mostly empty.
I turned onto Palmetto Street, heading northwest. As I drove past my mailbox and was just about to turn right onto my driveway, I came to a sudden stop.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, my eyes scanning along Palmetto Street and down my gravel driveway. My neighbor’s golden lab, Atticus, was nowhere in sight, and the lights on my porch were out. I switched off my headlights, turned off my air conditioning and listened to the eerily quiet night air, which was devoid of its usual symphony of Keys scaly crickets.
“Logan!” Ange gasped, staring and pointing towards my house. Following her gaze, I saw a dark shadowy figure moving slowly in my kitchen behind the front window, his body grazing against the ruffled half-opened curtain.
I put my Tacoma in reverse and slowly backed up into my neighbor’s driveway, just enough to be out of the street. Killing the engine, I reached into my CamelBak resting on the backseat and grabbed an extra magazine. My Sig was already holstered to the inside of my cargo shorts, out of view behind my shirt. I slid the extra fully loaded fifteen-round magazine into the loop of fabric beside my weapon. Reaching back into the bag, I grabbed my night vision monocular and opened the door.
Most people would probably call the police, but the idea never crossed my mind as I moved with Ange along the blue fence and thick hedge that separated my property from my neighbor’s. The tall palm trees lining both sides of my driveway provided extra cover as we moved north towards my backyard. Ange had grabbed her Glock and was holding it with both hands.
We posted up on the end of the fence, right beside the narrow channel about fifty feet away from where my Robalo center-console was stored. Though our eyes had adapted well and the half-moon overhead offered decent lighting, we still couldn’t see the inside of the house very well. I switched on my night vision monocular and took a look around.
“Three in the living room,” I said, seeing their dark figures as they tore apart my place, throwing furniture everywhere. The more I watched, the more my blood boiled within me. “Another in the bedroom.”
“See the guys under the house?” she whispered.
I angled my monocular down and saw the two guys she mentioned, their bodies barely visible behind the stilts holding my place up. One of them was talking into a phone while smoking a cigarette, and the other stood aimlessly, throwing a few occasional punches at my hundred-pound Everlast heavy bag hanging from the support beams.
We spotted another guy walking around the wraparound porch, making seven in all. As I watched them move haughtily around my house, I grew more and more angry, and soon I developed a plan.
“These guys aren’t gonna shoot at me,” I whispered to Ange after lowering my scope. “At least not right away. They’ll try and take me alive so I can help them find whatever it is they’re looking for. If I die, the chances of them finding it will be slim to none, and they know it too. We can use that.”
“Just promise to leave a few for me,” she said, staring daggers at the intruders.
As I stood to leave, she wrapped her toned arms around my neck and pulled me close. Breathing out passionately, she pressed her soft lips against mine and kept them there for a few seconds before pulling away.
“For good luck?” I said, smiling back at her.
“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Because you’re sexy as hell when you go into SEAL mode.”
I gave her another kiss, then turned around and moved swiftly back towards my Tacoma, keeping my body low and out of sight. Climbing into my truck, I quickly started up the engine, then took in a deep breath. These guys want me to pull into my driveway and cruise up to my house. Well, they’re about to get their damn wish.
I put the truck in gear and rolled out of my neighbor’s driveway, taking a sharp right onto Palmetto Street. Half a second later, I took another right, my off-road tires crunching over my gravel driveway.
There’s a time to be stealthy and there’s a time to break some skulls with reckless abandon. Since I knew that my truck would be a dead giveaway and that each of the seven thugs would instantly be aware of my presence, I decided on the second approach. When I was about thirty feet away from the two thugs standing under my house, I switched on my brights. As they shielded their eyes, I shoved my right foot down on the gas pedal, pressing it against the floor as hard as I could. My tires kicked back an avalanche of gravel before gaining traction and accelerating forward.
The two thugs barely had enough time to scream before the front end of my Tacoma slammed into the
ir bodies, shattering their bones as they draped helplessly over my hood. I let go of the gas and hit the brakes just as my truck reached the back of the paved slab, sending their blood-splattered bodies hurtling into my backyard like rag dolls.
Without bothering to shut off the engine, I climbed out of my Tacoma, reached for my Sig and stepped over towards the two lifeless bodies. I’d hit them at over thirty miles per hour, so I knew that they were done for, but I put a bullet through each of their chests just to make sure. The two gunshots rattled the quiet night air, and I heard the others yelling from upstairs.
As I moved towards the stairs on the side of my house, I heard loud boots shuffling overhead. They were heading for the stairs right beside me. Keeping out of view, I aimed my Sig through one of the gaps in the handrail and put a bullet into a guy’s chest just as he appeared. The force knocked him over the side headfirst, and he landed awkwardly on a dwarf lantana bush.
I moved around the corner, keeping my Sig raised as I took on the first few steps. As I reached the top of the stairs, the barrel of a .50-caliber Desert Eagle appeared around the front right corner of the house, followed quickly by a large black man with a lean, muscular build. His eyes grew big and he managed to fire off a single round right past me before I knocked the weapon out of his hands. As it tumbled onto the porch, I hit him with a powerful front kick that landed right in the center of his throat, causing him to gag as I crunched his trachea.
Grabbing his shirt, I pulled him down as hard as I could, then jammed my right knee up into his face. His body flew backward and slammed against the deck. He was out cold. I glanced up just in time to see the three other guys as they ran out the door on the other side of the house, squared up at me and raised their weapons.
I fired off three shots as I dove to my left, hitting at least one of them before disappearing around the corner of the house. I landed on my chest just fractions of a second before a stream of automatic gunfire cut through the air behind me.
Windows shattered above me and wood splintered out into tiny pieces as they held their triggers down. The sounds were ear-shattering, and they seemed to be moving closer. Gripping my pistol, I crawled towards the back side of the wraparound porch. It was hard to tell how many were still on their feet, but I knew that at most, I’d only taken down one of them. Climbing on top of my AC unit, which was surrounded by a pine wood lattice, I grabbed the ceramic tiling of the roof and pulled myself up. I moved swiftly towards my attackers, planning to strike them from above. The roof was mostly dry, but there were a few wet spots from the heavy rain earlier in the evening, so I watched my step.
When the gunfire finally ceased, one of them yelled at the other to move around to the front side of the porch. Glancing over the edge, I could tell that there were just two left standing. Holding tight to my Sig, I popped up to take them out. But before I could, Ange appeared out of nowhere from the darkness behind them. She must have climbed up the northern façade, and I watched as she caught the two unsuspecting thugs by surprise.
Swiftly and without hesitation, Ange wrapped her left arm around the thug closest to her. Pulling him tight and using his body as cover, she put a bullet through his chest, sending a spray of blood out from his abdomen. Before the other guy could do anything but gasp, Ange had her Glock trained on him and fired another shot, this one hitting him straight in his forehead. His head transformed into a messy gob of bloody bone and mutilated skin as he collapsed onto the deck.
With blood still dripping out of the first thug, Ange let go of him, letting his dying body fall face-first to the deck. I could feel the grit and determination oozing from her as she took a step towards the dying thug and slammed her heel into his head, ending his life.
Calmly and collectively, she took a look around, making sure there weren’t any more stragglers. I did the same, and after a few seconds, we realized it was just the two of us. Our eyes locked on to each other, and as they did, I holstered my Sig, grabbed the ceramic edge of the roof and dropped down onto the porch.
A moment later, I looked at the two dead guys, then turned to her. “I had them, you know.”
She smirked. “Really, now? Because I seem to remember seeing you run away like a little girl.”
“I was getting a better angle.” I grabbed the side door’s doorknob, twisted it and pushed open the door.
I flipped on the living room and kitchen lights, revealing the mess that was the inside of my house. Every cabinet door was open, every shelf cleared, every couch cushion dislodged and every drawer emptied. After looking over the entire house, it was clear that they’d been there a while. In the living room, I looked at the bullet holes in the walls and the shattered window, knowing the man-hours it would take to bring the house back to its original self.
As I headed back for the side door, I reached into my pocket and smiled as I wrapped my hand around the only thing that would have been useful for them. Whatever they’d found in here, at least there was nothing that would give them the location of the U-boat.
Just as I stepped out onto the porch, I heard the sound of sirens piercing the night air. I wasn’t at all surprised that someone had called the police after the symphony of gunfire that had shattered the peaceful air, so loud I was sure it had been heard for miles. The truth was, I was leaning towards calling them myself. I had put it off long enough, and it was time that law enforcement knew what was happening here.
I’d always dreaded dealing with law enforcement, and after spending eight years in the Navy, I knew firsthand how difficult and slow dealings with the government could be. But I also knew that the more eyes, ears and guns we had working against these drug smugglers, the better our chances were at taking them out and keeping them from getting their hands on a deadly weapon. I had also started to build trust with Key West’s sheriff, Charles Wilkes. Though we’d only met maybe five times, we’d developed a mutual respect for one another, and I knew that he could help us.
A moment later, bright flashing red and blue lights appeared through the hedging and two police cars turned onto my gravel driveway, their sirens deafening as they pulled up to my house. I walked down the stairs beside Ange, and we both had our empty hands raised high in the air.
“So what’s the plan here?” she said quietly as we reached the bottom step.
“We tell them everything.”
She looked at me with a scrunched-up, confused face, then shook her head. “Why would we do that?”
Before I could reply, the police cars stopped and their doors opened in unison. A few of the officers had their sidearms raised and aimed towards the house as they took cover behind their doors. Fortunately, Charles was in the front and after seeing Ange and me standing calmly by the stairs, he told his men to stand down and holster their weapons.
Charles moved his tall, lean frame over towards our position with light steps. It always amazed me how he seemed to carry himself like a man in his twenties, rather than in his late forties. After working for the FBI for thirty years, Charles had “retired” and migrated south, where he could walk over white sandy beaches instead of snow in the wintertime.
He walked confidently over towards us with two other officers right on his heels. One of them I instantly recognized as Officer Benjamin Kincaid, a young and cocky deputy who was about my height and had short blond hair and blue eyes. Though we hadn’t gotten along well at first, we’d grown to respect each other and I’d even gone shooting and jet skiing with him a few times.
“You know, this is exactly the sight I thought I’d see when we got the reports of gunfire coming from this address,” Charles said in his low voice that managed to be calm and powerful at the same time. He glanced over our shoulders and his eyes scanned to the side, no doubt noticing the two dead guys lying in their own blood in front of my truck and the guy lying facefirst in the dwarf lantana bush beside my porch. “What’s the situation?”
“As we were pulling into the driveway, we spotted a few guys standing under my house and holdi
ng firearms,” I said without hesitating. “When we drove closer, they yelled and aimed their weapons at us. In self-defense, I plowed into them, and then we jumped out and engaged in a gunfight with the other five. There’s six dead. The seventh probably won’t be able to speak for a few days, but he should be fine.” It was the truth, for the most part. If I’d told him about us doing reconnaissance before we’d attacked, he would have asked why we hadn’t called the police first.
Charles listened intently and ordered a few of his officers to search the place. Less than a minute later, more sirens resounded over the night air, and the bright lights of two ambulances appeared, turning from Palmetto Street into my driveway. The officers went to work, doing a full investigation of the property, taking pictures of the bodies and asking both me and Ange for our full statements. It wasn’t until after eleven at night that they had all the bodies loaded up and hauled away.
After cleaning up the place, Ange and I sat on my gray sectional couch while Charles sat across from us in a cushioned rattan chair.
When it was just the three of us inside, Charles turned to us and said, “I sent a squad car down to the Conch Harbor Marina. He checked out your boat and said it doesn’t look like anyone’s broken into it. I’m gonna keep a few guys in the parking lot there tonight, as I’m assuming you won’t be staying here.”
I was glad to be dealing with Charles. He was smart as hell, and he was a good, honest man to boot. He’d stood up for me and defended me while dealing with the aftermath of the incidents that had taken place on Loggerhead Key as Tropical Storm Fay had raged through Southern Florida, and afterward. A lot of bad guys had died, but they’d all been necessary and in defense of myself and an innocent young family, and Charles knew it. The situation would have been much more painful had it not been for him.
When I thanked him, he added, “Now, are you gonna tell me what’s going on here, or are you gonna keep me in suspense?”
I told him the story for the most part and put special emphasis on the part about the lost German U-boat and how if these pirates found it, they could get their hands on a biological weapon. The truth was, I was going to go after these guys whether there was a weapon or not, but the prospect made urgency a key factor.